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ARCHIBALD   CL  AVER  ING  GUNTHR 


m. 


\D/\IR  WILSON 

^LIBRARY^ 


The  King's  Stockbroker 


The  Sequel  to  "A  Princess  of  Paris 


A  Novel 


BY 


ARCHIBALD    CLAVERING     GUNTER 


AUTHOR    OF 


MR.    BARNES    OF    NEW    YORK,"    "THAT    FRENCHMAN!" 
"MISS    NOBODY    OF    NOWHERE." 


NEW    YORK 

THE    HOME    PUBLISHING    CO. 

3  EAST  FOURTEENTH  STREET 
1894 


COPYRIGHT,  1893, 
BY  A.  C.  GUNTER. 

All  rights  reserved. 


THE  WINTHROP  PRESS, 

52-54    LAFAYETTE  PLACE, 

NEW  YORK. 


CONTENTS. 

BOOK  I. 

THE    MECCA    OF    FINANCIERS. 

PAGE 

CHAPTER  I. — Stealing  a  Galley  Slave,    -         -  5 

"  II.— The  Tavern  of  the  Turk's  Head,  17 

"  III. — Cousin  Charlie  Sees  a  Ghost,  28 

"  IV.— The  Brothers  Paris,  36 

"  V. — The  Naughty  Quinault,     -  49 

"  VI. — Paris   the    Bucket-Shop    of   the 

World.                  -         -         -  6q 


BOOK  II. 

THE    RAID    OF    THE    POLICE. 

CHAPTER  VII. — Robbing  the  Old  World,  -  -  75 
"  VIII.— The  Ambush  in  the  Senart 

Forest,  -  -  89 

"  IX.— The  Empty  Coach  on  the  Melun 

Road,          -         -         -         -  100 

m 

X. — The  Defense  of  the  Auberge,   -   107 
"  XI.— Lanty  Thinks  He's  Fighting  the 

Turks,  -   115 

"  XII.— "Which  Woman?"  -  -123 

"  XIII. — The  Gamekeeper  D'Arnac,       -  133 


4  CONTENTS. 

BOOK  IH. 

THE    STRUGGLE    ON    THE    QUINCAMPOIX. 

CHAPTER     XIV. — "That    Awful   Woman    Specu 
lator!  "                                    -  144 
"             XV. — The  Battle  of  the  Brokers,         -  153 
XVI. — "The  Chevalier  Lanigan,"        -  165 
XVII. — Lanty's  Wedding,                         -  177 
XVIII.— The  Feast  of  Belshazzar,  -         -  188 

BOOK  IV. 

JUGGLING    WITH    FATE. 

CHAPTER     XIX. — The  Three  Lettres  de  Cachet,  -  195 
XX. — A  Comtesse  for  a  Minute,         -  204 
"  XXL— The  One  Marked  with  the  Cross,  217 

XXII.— "Use    This,     in     the     King's 

Name!"  -  221 

XXIII.— La  Quinault's  Wedding  Gift,     -  232 
XXIV. — An  Actress'  Love,     -  -  242 

BOOK  V. 

THE    FLIGHT    FROM    FRANCE. 

CHAPTER     XXV. — Fickle  Paris,   -  -  253 

XXVI.— The  Last  Stand,  -  265 

XXVIL— The   Dying   Boatswain  of  La 

Sylphide,    -         -  ,         -  277 


THE 
KING'S  STOCKBROKER. 

BOOK  I. 

THE  MECCA  OF  FINANCIERS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

STEALING    A    GALLEY    SLAVE. 

IT  is  the  night  of  the  ist  of  June,  1719. 

Upon  the  moonlit  waters  of  the  Mediterranean,  just 
out  of  the  port  of  Marseilles,  a  King's  galley,  La 
Sylphide,  is  rowing  slowly  into  the  harbor. 

Behind  her,  the  distant  lights  and  fireworks  from  the 
Isle  Pomegue  give  the  last  trace  of  the  great  water  ffae 
of  Marseilles,  that  this  day  has  been  given  to  celebrate 
the  making  of  the  city  a  free  port,  and  the  arrival  of  the 
first  great  fleet  from  Louisiana,  bearing  the  products  of 
the  new  colony  to  France ;  upon  which  the  Regent,  the 
Due  d'Orleans,  and  his  financier,  Monseigneur  Law, 
expect  to  build  up  the  grandest  commercial  enterprise 
yet  given  to  the  world — that  of  the  India  Company. 

The  galley  slaves  are  rowing  slowly,  for  their  day's 
work  of  transporting  passengers  to  the  island  and 
towing  the  ships  of  the  Mississippi  squadron  has  been 
an  awful  one,  under  the  burning  sun. 

The  free  sailors  and  soldiers  are  asleep  upon  the 
forecastle,  tired  with  firing  salutes  and  cheering  for  the 
Regent  and  Monseigneur  Law, 


6  THE    KING  S    STOCKBROKER. 

Upon  the  center  gangplank  running  through  the  low 
waist  of  the  vessel  the  somnolent  boatswain  and  his 
mates  are  not  doing  their  usual  flogging,  and  the 
cadence  of  the  oars  is  languid. 

Upon  the  high  decorated  poop  at  the  stern,  one  or 
two  under  officers  are  asleep. 

A  little  apart,  upon  this  poop  deck,  is  a  creature  just 
released  from  his  chains,  wearing  the  cap  and  camisole 
of  a  galley  slave.  Bending  over  him,  with  tears  in  his 
eyes,  is  a  young  man  bedecked  with  the  gorgeous 
uniform  of  a  general  of  the  army  of  France. 

An  officer  of  the  galley  approaches  them. 

"  Hush!  he  is  sleeping,"  whispers  the  general. 

"Oh,  ho!  your  format, "  laughs  Lieutenant  Polignac 
of  the  galley. 

"  Quiet!  don't  wake  him!"  mutters  General  le  Comte 
d'Arnac,  commandant  of  the  port  of  Marseilles. 

"  Tonnerre  de  Brest !  you  take  a  good  deal  of  interest 
in  the  poor  devil,"  replies  the  officer  of  marine.  "You 
give  me  a  thousand  crowns  to-morrow  morning  to  trans 
fer  a  slave  from  the  oar  to  your  shore  hospital  for  infec 
tious  diseases,  in  which,  according  to  you,  mon  general, 
the  last  attendant  galley  slave  died  to-day.  Parbleu  ! 
the  man  would  live  longer  at  the  oar  !  One  would  think 
you  wished  him  to  die  soon." 

"Perhaps  I  do,"  remarks  D'Arnac  shortly,  not 
anxious  to  give  any  one  his  secret. 

"Oh,  ho  !  just  put  him  at  the  oar  again,  and  for  one 
hundred  crowns  our  comite"  will  guarantee  he  will  not 
live  the  week  through." 

"No,  I  prefer  for  him  to  die  my  way." 

"Which  means  not  at  all — you  are  so  careful  of  his 
comfort,"  remarks  Polignac  slyly. 

Raymond  can  see  the  man  wink  in  the  moonlight. 
After  a  minute's  pause,  he  thinks  perhaps  a  half  confi 
dence  will  be  best. 

"You  have  guessed  it,  my  sea  dog,"  he  replies,  clap 
ping  the  lieutenant  on  the  shoulder.  "  I  want  to  make 
his  lot  as  easy  as  is  consistent  with  my  duty.  Would 
you  not  do  the  same  if  you  suddenly  discovered  one 
who  had  fought  by  your  side,  a  hero  in  the  old  Army  of 
the  Rhine,  toiling  with  criminals  on  the  oars  of  the 
galley  ? " 


THE    KING  S    STOCKBROKER.  7 

He  gazes  down  at  the  shackled  creatures  plying  the 
oars  to  which  they  are  chained,  in  the  low  waist  of  the 
vessel  almost  at  his  feet,  and  mutters:  "Would  you  not 
do  a  little  to  lighten  his  hard  lot  on  earth — for  I  pre 
sume  he  is  condemned  for  life  ?  " 

"Undoubtedly,"  remarks  Polignac,  "under  the 
circumstances  I  would  do  the  same,  as  far  as  consistent 
with  duty." 

Then  the  lieutenant  walks  forward  to  give  the  comite 
some  further  orders,  wondering  in  his  sailor  mind  what 
the  deuce  the  whole  affair  means,  but  being  very  confi 
dent  of  the  thousand  crowns  that  have  been  promised 
him  by  the  general  commanding  the  port  of  Marseilles. 

Looking  at  the  wretches  that  row  the  King's  galley, 
under  the  lashes  of  the  boatswain  and  his  mates,  two 
hundred  and  ninety-seven  of  the  three  hundred  that 
began  the  day's  toil  of  this  water  fete  at  Marseilles,  for 
two  have  died  as  they  rowed,  and  one  has  just  been 
released  from  his  irons  and  lies  upon  the  poop  deck,  the 
moonlight  shining  on  his  face  and  the  young  general 
bending  over  him,  Polignac  mutters:  "  Tonn..  de Dieu! 
a  general  of  the  army  taking  interest  in  a  galley  slave! 
It's  as  curious  as  the  mermaid  and  the  sea  serpent." 

But  if  Polignac,  lieutenant  of  La  Sylphide,  is  aston 
ished,  Raymond  le  Comte  d'Arnac,  general  of  the  army 
of  France,  is  not  only  astounded,  but  dazed  and  horri 
fied,  as  he  stands  on  the  deck  of  the  galley  that  is  being 
swept  into  the  harbor  of  Marseilles,  and  looking  over 
the  moonlit  waters  towards  the  Isle  Pomegue  sees  the 
great  fen  de  joie  twinkling  in  the  distance,  and  com 
mences  to  appreciate  what  he  is  doing. 

These  lights  of  the  celebration  set  him  to  thinking 
very  deeply ;  he  begins  to  realize  the  awful  responsi 
bility  of  the  task  he  has  set  himself  to  do. 

For  Raymond  le  Comte  d'Arnac,  general  of  the  army 
of  France,  has  determined  to  steal  from  the  galleys  the 
wretched  format  upon  whom  he  looks — well  knowing 
that  all  the  power  of  the  Regent  and  all  his  clique  of 
financiers,  courtiers  and  officers  of  police  will  be  against 
him. 

But  as  he  glances  down  on  the  face  of  his  old  comrade 
and  sees  it  drawn  with  toil  and  pinched  with  want  and 
suffering,  he  hears  the  pale,  trembling  lips  of  the  sleep- 


8  THE    KINO'S   STOCKBROKER. 

ing  man  murmur  "TOGETHER!"  This  word  of 
their  friendship  takes  him  back  to  the  Army  of  the 
Rhine,  and  he  sees  again  the  laughing,  light-hearted 
soldier  of  fortune,  O'Brien  Dillon,  who  saved  his  life 
the  night  they  stormed  the  lone  bastion  of  Friburg; 
and  he  remembers  how  they  had  been  happy  comrades 
during  the  days  at  Rastadt. 

Then  he  gazes  back  over  the  five  years  between  that 
time  and  this,  and  recollects  how  this  man  had  married  the 
beautiful  woman  he  had  fought  for  by  the  camp  fire,  and 
that  his  love  for  her  had  brought  him  to  what  he  now  is. 

Raymond  sees  as  in  a  dream  his  own  attempt  to 
rescue  this  enchanting  creature,  who  had  been  made  the 
bait  to  lure  from  the  Regent  of  France  the  concessions 
for  Monseigneur  Law,  and  how  he  himself  had  fallen 
under  her  wondrous  charms. 

With  this  comes  to  him  the  remembrance  of  O'Brien 
Dillon's  return  to  Paris  a  general  in  the  Austrian  service 
and  count  of  the  Empire,  to  again  seek  the  wife  of  his 
heart,  not  guessing  that  under  the  name  of  the  beautiful 
Hilda  de  Sabran  she  was  mistress  of  the  Regent  of 
France.  How,  made  rich  by  the  spoils  of  the  Turk,  and 
covered  by  the  diamonds  of  the  Ottoman  Vizier,  Dillon 
1  ad  enjoyed  a  second  honeymoon  in  the  arms  of 
the  siren  who,  though  she  loved  him  again  for  one  short 
evening,  was  ready  to  give  him  over  to  his  enemies  the 
next  morning,  knowing  that  his  was  no  nature  to  submit 
to  dishonor  even  from  the  Potentate  of  France;  that  she 
must  throw  away  her  ambition  and  conceal  her  shame 
from  her  husband,  or  permit  those  to  do  their  will  upon 
him  who,  to  keep  the  friendship  of  the  Due  d'Orleans, 
were  willing  to  consign  O'Brien  Dillon  to  the  oblivion 
of  death,  or  to  a  life-long  prison. 

This  brings  Raymond  to  the  details  of  that  curious 
night  at  the  Caf6  St.  Michel,  where  his  Irish  friend 
was  seized  by  a  mob  of  apparently  affrighted  spectators, 
after  making  his  wonderful  stroke  at  billiards — the  first 
masse"  shot  ever  made  in  public  in  the  world. 

That  it  was  this  shot  that  had  been  used  to  secretly 
convict  O'Brien  Dillon  of  sorcery,  Raymond  has  learned 
from  the  muttered  words  of  the  creature  lying  before 
him,  faltered  from  pale  lips  before  the  sleep  of  intense 
toil  came  upon  the  released  slave  of  the  oar. 


THE    KING  S    STOCKBROKER.  9 

Meditating  upon  this,  D'Arnac  concludes  this  convic 
tion  had  probably  been  obtained  under  some  old  edict 
of  the  past  century,  not  yet  wiped  out  from  the  juris 
prudence  of  the  country. 

For  in  France,  in  1520,  fires  had  burned  for  the  execu 
tion  of  witches,  wizards  and  sorcerers  in  every  town,  in 
every  province,  and  for  nearly  two  centuries  thereafter 
necromancers,  sorcerers  and  diaboles  had  suffered 
death  at  the  stake  as  often  as  the  superstitious  wished. 
A  few  short  years  before  this  very  night  such  transac 
tions  were  not  absolutely  unusual. 

Even  as  Raymond  looks  at  the  man,  he  knows  enough 
about  the  still  mysterious  powers  supposed  to  be  trans 
mitted  from  the  evil  one  to  be  aware  that  half  the 
galley  slaves — marauders,  thieves  and  bandits  as  they 
are — toiling  under  the  lash  of  the  boatswain,  would 
shudder  with  fear  at  the  thought  that  rowing  beside 
them,  suffering  the  same  stripes,  uttering  the  same 
shrieks,  had  been  one  accused  of  having  intercourse 
with  the  devil. 

"  Pardieu  f"  mutters  D'Arnac,  lookingatthe  motion 
less  form,  "if  poor  O'Brien  had  been  a  wizard,  he 
could  have  used  the  black  art  to  have  escaped,  and  not 
needed  me  to  assist  him.  If  there  is  sorcery  in  the 
matter,  it  belongs  to  la  Sabran,  whose  beauty  bewitches 
all  who  come  near  her  enchanting  charms — to  love  her; 
most  of  them  to  their  undoing." 

Then  thinking  of  the  assignation  he  has  even  now 
with  this  beautiful  creature  who  is  waiting  for  him  in 
vain  on  the  Island  Pomegue,  he  cogitates:  "  Mon 
Dieu  !  For  this  she  will  never  forgive  me  !  " 

With  this  he  sets  to  thinking  very  hard  and  very 
desperately,  for  he  imagines  that  the  beautiful  Hilda, 
who  has  twice  been  balked  of  his  wooing,  will  hate  him — 
not  love  him  the  more — for  this  night's  desertion — and 
will  use  every  means  in  her  power  to  effect  his  downfall. 

"If  I  make  a  false  step,  I  am  lost!  I  have  so  few 
friends  to  turn  to,"  he  reflects.  "Even  Cousin  Charlie, 
who  has  betrayed  this  man,  would  destroy  me.  In 
stealing  a  galley  slave  unpardoned  from  the  bagne,  I 
am  committing  a  crime  from  which  even  my  rank  will 
not  save  me,  with  every  power  of  the  clique  about  the 
Regent  arrayed  against  me  to  urge  my  condemnation. 


10  THE    KING  S    STOCKBROKER. 

But  steal  him  I  will,"  he  mutters,  "and  steal  him  by 
cunning,  as  I  cannot  use  my  power,  Commandant, 
though  I  am,  of  the  Port  of  Marseilles." 

Meditating  upon  this,  a  sudden  idea  comes  to  Ray 
mond,  but  with  it  comes  the  signal  from  the  galley  to 
the  forts  at  the  entrance  of  the  basin,  to  lower  the 
immense  iron  chain  that  is  always  raised  at  midnight 
to  keep  vessels  from  entering  unsignalled. 

The  clanking  of  this  barrier  to  the  harbor  warns  him 
he  must  act  quickly.  Stepping  to  the  sleeping  galley 
slave  D'Arnac  attempts  to  awaken  him,  and  is  answered 
with  a  moan. 

"Arise!"  he  whispers,  shaking  the  sleeping  format. 
"Wake  up!  You  must  act!" 

To  his  assaults  the  pale  lips  give  a  subdued  shriek : 
"I  awake,  comite1 — for  the  love  of  God,  not  the  basti 
nado! — I  awake!"  And  the  shivering  wretch,  with 
every  faculty  nerved  by  fear,  springs  up,  trembling, 
ready  to  take  the  oar. 

Then,  looking  round  in  a  half-dazed  manner,  O'Brien 
Dillon  sees  his  comrade,  and  murmurs,  "Raymond — 
Mon  Dicu!  I  dreamt  I  was  a  galley  slave."  Here  the 
cadence  of  the  oars  comes  to  him,  mingled  with  a  shriek 
brought  by  the  comitfs  lash,  and  he  trembles  and,  look 
ing  at  himself,  mutters:  "No — not  a  dream — your  face 
is  a  dream.  They  will  drag  me  back!"  then  shudder 
ing,  clutches  D'Arnac,  moaning:  "Friend  of  the  sword, 
save  a  comrade  from  the  cruel  boatswain! " 

And  Raymond  whispers  in  his  ear:  "You  are  safe — I 
am  by  your  side.  You  remember? " 

"Yes." 

"You  recall " 

"Yes!  let  me  sleep — let  me  sleep!  I  am  released 
from  the  irons — watch  over  me — let  me  sleep!  "  and  the 
man,  exhausted  with  the  fearful  toil  of  the  day,  sinks 
upon  the  deck. 

But  Raymond  is  at  him  again  whispering:  "Wake 
up!" 

"Let  me  sleep!" 

"Wake  up  for  revenge!" 

"For  REVENGE!"  And  suddenly  a  giant  rises  up; 
no  more  the  shrinking  galley  slave — but  the  man  who 
will  avenge  his  manhood's  wrongs.  And  O'Brien  Dillon 


THE    KINGS    STOCKBROKER.  II 

says:  "Where  are  they — my  wife  and  my  uncle  Johnny 
Law,  the  financier  of  France?  "  His  voice  has  an  eager 
but  horrible  tone. 

"They  are  not  here.  In  order  to  escape,  you  must 
do  as  I  direct.  For  ten  minutes  you  must  control  your 
self!"  whispers  Raymond.  "Are  you  strong  enough  to 
swim  one  hundred  yards?" 

"One  hundred  yards?  For  revenge  I  could  swim 
five  miles!" 

"Then,  when  I  walk  forward  to  speak  to  the  lieuten 
ant  of  the  galley,  utter  the  yell  of  the  maniac  and 
spring  overboard.  Dive  deep  and  long,  and  make 
those  stone  stairs  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  basin. 
You  see  them?" 

"Yes." 

"There  I  will  meet  you — you  understand?" 

"As  well  as  I  did  at  Friburg!  "  And  the  galley 
slave  gives  his  hand  to  the  general  of  the  army,  and 
whispers,  "  Together!  " 

"Yes,  always  together  now!"  mutters  Raymond, 
tears  dimming  his  sight,  as  he  thinks  of  what  this  man 
had  once  been,  and  what  he  is. 

Then  as  the  galley  sweeps  into  the  basin  of  Marseilles, 
D'Arnac  steps  up  to  Lieutenant  Polignac,  who  has 
gone  forward  along  the  center  plank  of  the  waist,  and 
is  talking  to  the  comit^  and  says  to  him:  "I  will  sign, 
as  you  suggested,  a  requisition  for  galley  slave  number 
one  of  the  second  oar." 

"Yes,  number  1392  of  Toulon,  unbranded,"  replies 
Polignac,  looking  over  a  book  that  he  has  just  received 
from  the  boatswain,  being  a  record  of  the  formats  em 
ployed  on  the  vessel. 

"Unbranded?"  chuckles  the  comitt.  "He's  a 
rare  bird;  no  fieur-de-lys  on  him!  He  came  to  us 
unbranded,  and  I  had  no  orders  as  to  what  letter 
designating  his  crime  should  be  put  upon  him.  He's 
a  strong  devil  and  we'll  miss  him !  But  that  matter 
you  must  settle  with  our  captain,  Monsieur  le  General." 

Then  he  suddenly  cries :  ' '  Tonnerre  de  Brest !  but.  he's 
gone  crazy!  " 

And  Polignac  echoes:  "Your  galley  slave  is  a 
maniac!  " 

For  at  this  moment,  just  as  the  vessel  is  dropping 


12  THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER. 

anchor,  O'Brien  Dillon,  rising  from  "  the  poop  deck, 
utters  three  or  four  demoniac  yells,  and  springing 
over  the  side  of  the  ship  into  the  deep  water  of  the 
basin,  disappears  from  sight ;  and  though  they  all  run 
to  the  railings,  and  Polignac  orders  the  sailors  to  look 
out  and  see  when  the  man  rises,  no  living  thing  comes 
under  their  eyes  in  the  basin  of  the  harbor  of  Mar 
seilles. 

Then  Polignac  remarks:  "Tonn..  de  Dieu !  General 
d'Arnac,  it  will  not  be  necessary  for  you  to  write  a 
receipt  for  the  format;  would  you  kindly  attest  this 
affair  in  the  log-book  ?  " 

This  Raymond  does  in  the  poop  cabin,  and  it  is  the 
following  record : 

June  i,  1719. 

Galley  slave  number  1392,  of  Toulon,  being  relieved  from 
his  irons  to  be  placed  upon  shore  duty  at  hospital  for  infectious 
diseases,  suddenly  went  crazy,  and  springing  overboard,  was 
drowned,  about  midnight,  in  the  harbor  of  Marseilles. 

This  over,  D'Arnac  steps  to  the  gangway  to  leave  the 
vessel,  but  Polignac  is  at  his  side,  and  whispers:  "  How 
about  the  thousand  crowns  now?" 

"At  my  office  at  twelve  to-morrow  morning!" 
returns  Raymond. 

"Oh!  I  understand,"  chuckles  the  sea  dog.  '"''Bon 
soir !  Monsieur  le  General.  I  hope  the  result  of  your 
excursion  upon  La  Sylphide  will  be  as  pleasant  to  you  as 
it  has  been  profitable  to  me." 

"God  knows!  "  mutters  D'Arnac,  as  he  steps  off  the 
vessel,  and  with  slashing  tread,  goes  straight  to  his 
quarters,  for  into  his  mind  has  suddenly  sprung  a 
serious  problem — how  to  clothe  the  format  so  he  can 
pass  unchallenged  through  the  streets  of  the  town  ? 

"  Par  bleu  !  my  quarters  as  commandant  of  the  garri 
son  are  cursed  with  sentries!"  Raymond  mutters  as 
he  walks. 

This  he  finds  to  be  the  case,  for  the  sergeant  of  the 
guard  seems  unusually  alert  this  night,  and  very  wide 
awake;  an  activity  which  his  superior  would  praise  at 
any  other  time,  but  at  this  particular  moment  anathe 
matizes  under  his  breath. 

Going  to  his  own  apartments  D'Arnac  discovers 
his  lackeys  are  by  no  means  so  wakeful;  every  one 


THE    KING  S    STOCKBROKER.  13 

of  them  are  out  on  various  junketings  about  town, 
as,  with  the  instinct  of  servants,  they  have  divined 
that  when  their  master  departed,  he  went  for  an 
all-night  cruise. 

Finding  his  flunkies  absent,  Raymond,  after  a  little 
consideration,  selects  some  clothes  of  his  own  that  he 
has  worn  so  long  ago  that  their  loss  will  hardly  attract  his 
valet's  notice,  and  blessing  God  that  the  fashion  for 
gentlemen  still  dictates  their  wearing  wigs,  hunts  up  an 
old  peruke  of  his  to  cover  the  shaven  head  of  his  stolen 
galley  slave.  Carrying  these  under  his  long  military 
overcoat,  he  departs  again  from  his  quarters. 

Passing  the  saluting  sergeant  of  the  guard  and  the 
sentries  he  soon  reaches  the  basin  of  the  harbor  of 
Marseilles,  and  coming  to  a  little  stone  stairway  leading 
up  from  the  splashing  water,  sees  reclining,  sleeping 
again,  the  man  registered  that  night  as  "  Format  number 
1392,  drowned  in  the  harbor  of  Marseilles." 

After  one  or  two  efforts,  he  succeeds  in  waking  him, 
for  these  galley  slaves  were  accustomed  to  sleep  like 
dogs,  and  wake  like  dogs — to  be  aroused  at  any  hour 
of  the  day  or  night  that  the  vessel  might  be  put  in 
motion. 

Shaking  himself  like  a  great  water  spaniel,  O'Brien 
Dillon  stands  once  more  before  his  old  comrade  and 
friend. 

"  Clothe  yourself  in  these!  They  are  the  dress  of 
gentlemen,  dear  friend,"  whispers  the  latter. 

"Bedad,"  answers  O'Brien,  "anything  is  better  than 
the  nothing  I  have  worn."  After  a  moment  he  adds: 
"Faith,  it's  about  me  usual  method  of  toilet  to  dress 
myself  after  a  bath!" 

These  words  bring  sudden  joy  to  D'Arnac — the  first 
he  has  had  since  he  made  his  awful  discovery — for  in 
them  he  sees  a  flicker  of  the  old  Irish  spirit.  The 
words  that  come  to  him  a  moment  after  give  him  even 
greater  hope. 

"  By  Saint  Patrick  !  "  says  the  format  who  is  rapidly 
putting  himself  in  the  habiliments  of  civil  life,  "ye've 
given  me  the  fine  clothes  of  a  gentleman — that  came  from 
your  heart,  ma  bcuchal /"  Then  he  says  suddenly,  with 
a  shudder:  "By  me  soul!  you've  put  me  in  black!  Is 
it  a  bad  omen  ?" 


14  THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER. 

"Oh,"  answers  Raymond,  "I  forgot — .  I've  been 
in  mourning  for  nearly  a  year  for  the  Comte  de  Creve- 
coeur  ,  my  uncle,  who  died  in  Paris." 

With  this  O'Brien  turns  curious  eyes  upon  his  friend 
and  whispers:  "  How  long  is  it  since  the  night  I  made 
that  accursed  shot  at  billiards  ?  " 

"Eighteen  months,"  replies  D'Arnac,  after  a  pause 
of  consideration. 

"Eighteen  months ?"  gasps  Dillon.  "By  the  powers 
of  hell!  it  has  seemed  to  me  eighteen  YEARS  !  Ah  !  the 
infernal  click  of  the  billiard  balls  that  has  been  in  my 
ears  !  The  slash  of  the  oars  in  the  rowlocks,  the  snap 
of  the  boatswain's  lash  have  been  the  click  of  the 
billiard  balls.  The  screams  of  the  tortured  wretches 
have  been  the  billiard  balls  to  me.  Oh,  my  God !  But 
if  I  think  of  that  time — it  will  make  me  the  cur,  when 
I  have  to  be  the  lion — the  lion  hungry  for  revenge!" 
And  his  face  in  the  moonlight  is  an  awful  one  to 
look  at. 

Then  trying  to  regain  his  spirits  he  attempts  a  chuckle: 
"  And  it's  fine  looking  ye  are,  in  your  general's  uniform 
and  decorations.  I  was  a  general  once  and  a  count!" 
and  his  eyes  gleam  bright  and  lustrous  as  he  mutters: 
"  Give  me  a  sword,  and  I'll  be  a  general  and  a  count 
again." 

"Then  be  one!"  and  D'Arnac  buckles  his  own 
weapon  around  his  old  comrade's  waist,  who  cries  and 
laughs  over  it,  and  pets  it,  and  fondles  its  hilt,  saying  it 
is  his  friend,  and  now  that  he  has  a  weapon  in  his 
hands,  he  feels  a  general  once  more. 

At  this  Raymond  grows  more  easy.  He  sees  the 
indomitable  spirit  has  not  all  been  tortured  out  of  this 
man;  that  in  time  O'Brien  Dillon  will  become  again 
the  dashing  soldier  of  the  Rhine  campaign. 

"Come,"  he  says,  "I  can't  give  you  a  general's 
quarters  this  evening." 

"But  ye'll  give  me  the  welcome  of  a  friend !'  mutters 
O'Brien  as  he  strides  "beside  Raymond. 

"I  want  to  ask  you  two  questions,  quick.  It  is  for 
your  safety  as  well  as  mine,"  remarks  D'Arnac, 
anxiously.  "Were  you  convicted  by  regular  tribunal?" 

"  Faith,  I'm  afraid  so.  They  took  me  in  naked  into 
the  Conciergerie.  I  was  charged  within  ten  minutes 


THE    KING  S   STOCKBROKER.  15 

after  I  arrived  there  with  being  a  sorcerei  and  a 
wizard.  The  judges  seemed  to  be  ready  for  me.  Your 
Cousin  Charlie  came  in  as  Procureur  du  Roy,  and  prof 
fered  himself  to  me  as  my  counsel,  and  told  me  not  to 
say  a  word  and  he  would  fix  everything.  Then  I  heard 
a  rigmarole  about  somebody  that  wasn't  me — Paul 
Casanova — and  of  course  I  answered  nothing  and  Cousin 
Charlie  he  answered  nothing.  Two  minutes  after  I  was 
chained  and  ironed,  and  in  a  van  being  driven  out 
of  Paris  to  a  living  hell!"  Then  he  suddenly  whispers, 
trembling:  "God  help  me!  Raymond!  Save  me! 
Don't  let  him  see  me !  It  is  the  comite  coming — the 
cruel  comitt '.' " 

And  D'Arnac  sees  the  gentleman  walking  at  his  side 
become  a  trembling  format  again  and  shrink  behind 
him,  as  at  a  little  distance  they  see  pass  before  them 
the  boatswain  of  the  galley  La  Sylphide,  whistling  a 
merry  strain,  en  route  for  some  neighboring  wine  shop ; 
but  fortunately  he  doesn't  see  them. 

"You  are  sure  my  cousin  betrayed  you?"  asks 
Raymond  the  moment  the  man  has  disappeared. 

"As  I  am  a  living  wretch,  despoiled  of  property  and 
name,  and  degraded  from  my  manhood,  I  know  it — and 
now  I  know  the  reason  of  it.  Uncle  Johnny  Law,  the 
financier  of  France,  and  my  wife,  were  sure  from  what  I 
said  to  them  on  my  return  from  Vienna  that  the  minute  I 
discovered  that  Madame  la  Comtesse  Dillon  (I'd  made 
her  that,  hadn't  I,  my  boy,  by  the  sword?)  was  De  Sabran, 
the  mistress  of  the  Regent  of  France,  I  would  punish 
her  unfaithfulness  to  me — that  is  the  reason  they 
made  me  what  I  am.  Your  cousin,  Charlie  de  Moncrief, 
heard  me  tell  of  my  wonderful  shot  at  billiards  I  was  to 
make  that  night.  It  was  arranged  for.  The  mob  flew 
at  me  and  cried  'sorcerer!'  and  'demon!'  and  tore 
every  bit  of  clothes  from  me,  and  robbed  me  of  the 
diamonds  that  I  had  on  me — so  that  I  could  not  be 
identified.  The  judges  were  ready.  The  Procureur  was 
on  hand!  So  under  an  assumed  name  O'Brien  Dillon, 
General  of  the  Imperial  Army  and  Count  of  the  Empire, 
was  condemned  and  smuggled  away  to  the  galleys 
of  France — the  doom  of  felons." 

"  My  Heaven  !  the  ineffable  villain!"  mutters  Ray 
mond.  "Why,  Charles  de  Moncrief  came  to  me  after 


16  THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER. 

he  had  assisted  at  your  condemnation,  and  went  with 
me  to  the  office  of  the  Lieutenant  of  Police  to  make 
inquiries  about  you." 

"And  you  heard  nothing  ?  " 

"Nothing  from  the  police." 

"Then  the  Lieutenant  of  Police  is  against  me! 
Doesn't  that  prove  what  I  have  told  you — that  it  is  the 
power  of  France  that  is  upon  me  ?  Raymond,  my 
comrade,  give  me  a  little  money — let  me  fly  from  here 
on  my  own  account — else  I  will  bring  ruin  upon  you,  my 
friend!" 

And  O'Brien  Dillon  holds  out  eager  hands  and  would 
take  money  and  disappear,  perhaps  forever,  from  the 
light  of  the  world ;  but  Raymond's  grip  is  upon  him,  and 
his  hand  clutches  his,  and  he  mutters:  "Together — the 
old  word,  O'Brien — TOGETHER — as  at  Friburg,  when  you 
saved  my  life !  " 

With  that,  the  escaped  format  embraces  the  general 
of  France  with  such  a  terrible  grip  that  D'Arnac 
almost  feels  his  bones  crush  together.  And  he  knows 
that  his  comrade  of  the  Rhine,  from  being  a  strong 
man,  has  become  under  the  fearful  exercise  and  train 
ing  of  the  galleys,  a  very  giant  in  strength. 

"If  I  can  get  his  mind  as  potent  as  his  "body," 
Raymond  thinks,  "  together  we  will  win  our  battle  even 
against  the  power  of  France." 

So,  with  more  confidence  than  has  come  to  him  before 
in  this  adventure,  D'Arnac  conducts  O'Brien  Dillon 
past  saluting  sentries,  into  his  quarters,  and  showing 
him  a  vacant  room,  and  placing  before  him  wine 
and  provisions,  hurriedly  obtained  from  his  sideboard, 
tells  him  to  refresh  himself,  and  then  to  lie  down  and 
sleep. 

"  Indade  and  I  will!  God  of  mercy!  to  think  that  I 
shall  lie  in  a  bed  again  this  night — I,  who  have  slept,  it 
seems  for  ages,  on  the  hard  benck  of  the  galley  slave. 
I,  who  have — my  God!  Raymond — "and  he  bursts 
into  tears  that  make  his  comrade  weep  also. 

But  eventually  the  Irish  general  is  comforted,  and 
goes  to  sleep  like  a  child,  sighing  the  long  sighs  of 
exhausted  manhood;  once  more  under  the  roof  of  man 
— once  more  with  the  comforts  of  man  about  him — 
once  more  with  a  man's  hope  in  the  world. 


THE    KINGS    STOCKBROKER.  17 

CHAPTER    II. 

THE  TAVERN  OF  THE  TURK'S  HEAD. 

UPON  his  own  couch  Raymond  lies  tossing  a  good 
deal  of  the  night;  sometimes  thinking  what  a  difference 
it  would  have  been  to  him  had  not  the  galley  slave 
whispered  "  Together!  " ;  perchance  with  an  awful  long 
ing  for  the  beauty  he  now  knows  shall  never  be  his, 
because  he  has  determined  that  this  woman,  he  once 
thought  in  his  boyish  way  he  loved,  is  a  siren  who  leads 
men  to  destruction,  and  will  destroy  his  life  eventually, 
should  he  ever  take  her  to  his  heart,  as  fully  and 
perhaps  as  awfully  as  she  has  done  that  of  the  man  who  is 
sleeping  in  the  adjoining  room. 

On  awakening  next  morning,  D'Arnac  finds  sudden 
movement  is  necessary. 

A  package  comes  to  him  which  astounds  and  delights 
him,  yet  embarrasses  him. 

It  is  an  order  to  relinquish  his  post  as  Commandant 
of  Marseilles,  and  to  return  forthwith  to  Paris. 

An  official  notification  that  he  has  been  promoted  to 
the  rank  of  lieutenant  general  in  the  army  of  France, 
and  has  been  made  honorary  lieutenant  colonel 
of  the  Musquetaires  Noirs,  and  commandant  of  a 
portion  of  the  garrison  of  the  capital,  accompanies  the 
epistle. 

This  promotion  is  so  unexpected  D'Arnac  cannot 
guess  to  whose  good  offices  it  is  due.  A  little  consid 
eration  makes  him  think  he  owes  it  to  his  old  chief  of 
the  Army  of  the  Rhine,  the  Marechal  de  Villars. 

Upon  it  he  must  act  at  once. 

He  does  so,  leaving  his  office  hurriedly  to  make 
arrangements  for  departure,  but  taking  the  precaution 
to  lock  the  door  of  O'Brien  Dillon's  room,  to  prevent 
intrusion  by  anyof  his  servants,  most  of  whom  are  sleep- 
mg  off  the  effects  of  their  last  night's  festivity,  and  do 
'iot  imagine  their  master  has  yet  returned  to  his  quarters. 

Occupied  about  this,  Raymond,  passing  the  Hotel  de 
Vilie,  "sees  the  carriages  of  Monseigneur  Law  and 
his  party  drawn  up  ready  to  take  departure  from  Mar 
seilles. 

The  financier  calls  to  him  and  says  affably:  "Gen- 


l8  THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER. 

eral  d'Arnac,  permit  me  to  congratulate  you  upon  your 
promotion!  " 

Law  has  had  word  of  it  by  post  also,  and  rather  hints 
that  it  is  owing  to  his  good  offices  that  the  young  man 
has  received  his  important  command,  for  this  shrewd 
diplomatist  imagines  that  it  will  be  well  to  be  en 
rapport,  during  the  coming  year,  with  any  officer  con 
trolling  a  portion  of  the  garrison  of  Paris. 

He  continues,  rather  eagerly :  "Won't  you  join  our 
party  on  this  journey  to  the  capital  ? " 

"  That  will  be  impossible  !  I  cannot  turn  over  my 
command  here  in  a  minute,'*  replies  D'Arnac,  anxious  to 
get  the  affair  over,  for  he  sees  the  goddess  that  he  had 
worshipped  until  to-day,  the  .alluring  Hilda  de  Sabran,  is 
seated  in  the  carriage  immediately  behind  that  of  Mon- 
seigneur  Law. 

"You  must  join  us,"  cries  that  beauty,  overhearing 
the  last  portion  of  this  conversation,  during  which  she 
has  been  throwing  veiled,  yet  pathetic  glances  at  the 
dashing  young  general.  "You  missed  our  fete  last 
night,  but  we  claim  you  for  the  journey." 

Then  she  waves  a  beckoning  hand  to  him. 

Thus  compelled,  D'Arnac  approaches  her  carriage, 
and  finding  her  alone  in  it,  is  forced  to  a  tete-a-tete  that 
he  would  like  to  avoid. 

She  whispers  eagerly:  "  You  will  come  with  us  ?  " 

"  Impossible  !  "  he  falters.  "  Official  duties  !  "  His 
look,  which  for  the  life  of  him  he  cannot  control,  gives 
this  young  lady  pleasure.  She  is  so  enchanting  a  pict 
ure  no  man  could  withhold  admiration. 

"Official  duties,"  she  says  bitterly,  "kept  you  from 
me  yesterday  ?  "  then  whispers  plaintively,  lovingly  : 
"  Raymond,  my  darling — God  help  me !  why  did  you  for 
get  me  last  night  ?  "  An  awful  longing  in  her  soft 
voice,  wistful  tears  in  her  blue  eyes  that  have  grown 
languid,  looking  for  him  who  came  not  to  her  arms. 

"  Why  ?  "  stammers  the  young  man.  Then  a  sudden 
Machiavelian  instinct  coming  to  him,  he  mutters:  "You 
see,  your  '  Uncle  Johnny  '  was  wiser  than  either  of  us  ; 
when  he  sent  me  away  last  evening,  he  knew  I  could 
not  get  back  to  the  Isle  Potnegue. " 

"Ah,  it  was  he  !  "  and  the  beauty  snaps  the  pearls 
she  calls  teeth  very  savagely  together,  and  favors  Uncle 


THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER.  19 

Johnny's  back  with  a  look,  that  if  he  saw  it,  would  make 
the  financier  jump. 

On  this  Raymond  gazes  astonished ;  he  had  expected 
indignant  anger  from  this  slighted  beauty,  but  she 
only  gives  pathetic  entreaty  in  both  voice  and  eyes  to 
this  man  who  is  the  first  one  in  all  her  life  to  slight 
her  marvelous  loveliness  and  make  her  suffer  the 
pang  of  jealous  fear.  Her  rage  is  for  others,  Mon- 
seigneur  Law,  Raymond's  protege",  la  Quinault,  the 
comedienne  of  the  Francais,  but  never  D'Arnac. 

Just  at  this  instant  the  laughing  Marquise  de  Prie, 
attended  by  the  Prince  de  Conti,  joins  them  from  a 
neighboring  shop,  in  which  she  has  been  making  some 
purchases  for  the  journey,  #nd  giving  the  promoted  gen 
tleman  an  elaborate  courtesy,  says:  "Permit  me  to 
salute  the  colonel  of  the  Musquetaires  Noirs.  That  means 
all  the  Court  balls  ex  officio.  I  claim  the  first  minuet." 

"With  the  greatest  of  pleasure,  "and  Raymond  bows, 
delighted  at  the  opportune  interruption. 

"You  had  better  join  us,  D'Arnac, "  remarks  De 
Conti  very  affably,  for  even  this  prince  of  the  blood 
thinks  he  may  have  use,  in  the  near  future,  for  a  general 
commanding  troops  near  Paris.  "  Egad!  If  you  don't 
accept  our  offer,  you  will  scarcely  reach  the  capital  for 
a  year,  unless  you  walk  there.  Every  diligence  seat  is 
engaged  for  months  ahead." 

"  I  shall  use  my  own  chargers, "  answers  Raymond, 
"  though  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  your  kind 
invitation,  Monsieur  le  Prince." 

A  moment  after  the  carriages  drive  away  ;  Hilda 
waving  an  adieu,  with  an  entreaty  in  her  eyes  that 
would  mean  a  great  deal  to  D'Arnac,  if  he  would  accept 
their  meaning. 

Then  he  goes  about  his  business  again,  and  towards 
evening,  his  arrangements  having  been  completed, 
deftly  getting  his  galley  slave  out  of  Marseilles,  the  two 
take  horse  for  Paris. 

But  were  it  not  for  D'Arnac's  private  means  of 
conveyance  they  would  be  months  reaching  the  capital. 
The  rush  to  that  city  is  so  immense  that  every  vehicle, 
every  diligence,  has  been  engaged  far  in  advance  to 
take  the  speculating  crowd  of  financiers,  from  the 
world  over,  to  the  capital  of  France,  which  is  growing 


20  THE    KING  S   STOCKBROKER. 

even  day  by  day  under  the  great  schemes  of  Mon- 
seigneur  Law,  in  its  crowds,  in  its  riches,  in  its 
potency  in  the  commercial  world,  in  a  luxury  and 
extravagance  that  had  been  unheard  of  since  the  days 
when  Ancient  Rome  conquered  the  world,  and  it  in  turn 
destroyed  her  by  the  effeminate  voluptuousness  it  threw 
upon  her. 

In  fhis  gay  capital,  just  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue 
St.  Denis  and  the  Rue  de  Petit  Lion,  stands  the  hotel 
of  Mr.  Lanty  Lanigan,  a  veteran  in  the  French 
Army  of  the  Rhine  during  the  war  of  the  Spanish  succes 
sion  and  of  the  Imperial  army  on  the  banks  of  the 
Danube,  opposed  to  the  Turks,  in  which,  following  the 
fortunes  of  O'Brien  Dillon,  he  had  battled  most  vali 
antly  both  for  love  of  fighting* and  for  love  of  plunder. 

Some  two  years  before  this,  coming  with  his  master  in 
triumph  to  Paris,  after  the  great  battle  of  Belgrade,  in 
which  they  had  captured  the  Turkish  Vizier  and 
obtained  a  great  ransom  from  him,  as  well  as  all  the 
diamonds  of  himself  and  harem,  amounting  to  some 
five  hundred  thousand  crowns'  worth  of  loot  and 
plunder,  Mr.  Lanigan  had  disported  himself  with 
military  ardor  until  the  disastrous  mass£  shot  at  billiards 
that  his  master  had  made  at  the  Cafe  St.  Michel  and 
the  disappearance  of  O'Brien  Dillon,  Comte  of  the 
Empire  and  General  in  the  Austrian  service,  from  the 
sight  of  man. 

Thereafter  Mr.  Lanigan,  by  assiduous  attentions  to 
Monseigneur  Law  at  his  bank  on  the  Rue  Vivienne,  as 
well  as  various  deft  hints  as  to  certain  disclosures  he 
might  make  the  Regent  in  regard  to  the  beautiful  Hilda 
de  Sabran  being  the  wife  of  his  lost  master,  had 
contrived  to  gain  from  the  financier  enough  money  to 
purchase  the  hostelry  of  the  Turk's  Head. 

The  house,  three  stories  in  height,  topped  by  a  slop 
ing  roof  with  dormer  windows  after  the  manner  of  that 
time,  is  quite  extensive  in  its  accommodations  for 
wayfarers;  part  of  the  lower  floor  having  been  fitted  up 
by  its  enterprising  proprietor  into  a  bright  looking  cafe, 
the  floor  of  which  is  covered  with  the  cleanest  sawdust. 
Adjoining  it  is  a  pleasant  wineshop,  embellished  by  a 
billiard  table. 

If  O'Brien  Dillon  has  any  unpleasant  recollections  of 


THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER.  21 

the  famous  masse"  shot  evolved  by  the  inventive  mechan 
ical  genius  of  his  Irish  servant,  Mr.  Lanty  has  no  such 
feelings  with  regard  to  it,  and  has  made  it,  by  means  of 
his  deft  performance  with  a  cue  bearing  a  leather  end, 
quite  a  resort  of  those  who  are  devotees  of  the  game, 
winning  from  them  considerable  money  by  his  extraor 
dinary  execution  of  the  marvelous  shot  which  has  now 
become  recognized  as  a  matter  of  mechanics — not 
magic. 

The  business  of  the  tavern,  cafe,  and  adjoining  wine 
shop,  has  increased  marvelously,  as  the  town  has  filled 
up  with  strangers  thronging  to  Paris  to  gain  fortunes  on 
the  Rue  Quincampoix,  by  speculating  in  the  stocks  of 
the  India  Company,  now  the  great  feature  of  financial 
Europe. 

Within  three  months,  Mr.  Lanty  Lanigan  (generally 
known  under  the  name  of  Lanty)  has  twice  raised  his 
charges,  without  losing  a  customer. 

His  hostelry  he  has  decorated  with  an  enormous 
Turk's  head  of  most  savage  appearance  and  ferocious 
eyes,  in  honor  of  his  triumph  over  the  Ottoman,  and  has 
placarded  under  this  sign  the  following  ominous  notice 
to  travelers : 


is  NO  POOR  MAN'S  TAVERN  ! 
None  but  the  rich  need  apply 
For  entertainment  for  man  or  beast. 


It  is  a  bright,  beautiful  morning  towards  the  end  of 
June,  1719,  when  Lanty,  walking  out  of  his  hostelry 
and  taking  a  look  up  and  down  the  Rue  de  Petit  Lion 
and  the  Rue  St.  Denis,  mutters  to  himself,  gazing  upon 
the  great  mass  of  people  that  throng  the  streets  even 
at  this  early  hour  of  the  day:  "  Bedad,  they're  still 
crowding  in  like  women  to  a  wake  !  Divil  take  me,  if 
I  don't  raise  the  charges  on  'em  agin  !" 

Then  a  sudden  grin  comes  over  his  genial  devil-may- 
care  countenance,  as  he  says:  "Be  me  soul!  here's 
luck  !  If  it  isn't  "that  pretty  little  darlint  Marie  coming 


22  THE    KING  S    STOCKBROKER. 

down  the  street  in  the  handsomest  pair  of  red  stockings 
that  ever  made  a  man's  heart  beat  faster  !  I'm  afeard 
her  father,  that  old  Savoyard,  Chambery,  don't  like 
me  as  well  as  before  he  made  ten  millions  on  the  Rue 
Quincampoix.  But  faix,  if  he  made  a  hundred  millions 
I'd  love  his  duck  of  a  daughter  all  the  same — perhaps  a 
little  more.  Bedad  !  I  think  me  sword  has  done  good 
work  for  me  with  the  young  lady.  She's  not  used  to 
soldiers  andgintlemin,and  a  man  of  the  world  impresses 
her  innocent  soul." 

Whereupon,  assuming  a  martial  manner,  and  bring 
ing  into  prominence  the  hilt  of  a  long  Spanish  rapier 
that  he  always  wears  at  his  side,  Mr.  Lanigan  strides  up 
to  a  very  showy  looking  young  woman  who  chances  to 
be  passing  the  Turk's  Head  Inn  just  at  this  time. 

"Ah,  Marie,  acushla!"  he  whispers  in  the  easy  man 
ner  that  most  Irishmen  have  towards  the  fair  sex.  "Did 
ye  come  out  walking  to  see  me  this  morning  ?" 

"Not  this  morning,"  says  the  girl  saucily,  "and  I 
did  not  see  you  at  all;  the  sun  was  in  my  eyes." 

"Faix,  I  know  that  I'm  always  dazzling,"  replies 
Lanty,  stealing  the  compliment  from  the  sun. 

"  Pooh  !  you're  not  dazzling  tome,"  giggles  the  girl, 
who  has  rustic,  unformed  but  coquettish  manners. 
"What  do  you  mean  by  lacushla?'  Is  it  a  Dutch 
compliment  ?" 

"Faix,  don't  ye  know  that's  the  Irish  for  darlint, — 
ye  little  witch  ?  Hav'nt  I  been  calling  you  acushla 
with  me  eyes  ever  since  they  first  got  sight  of  ye  ?" 
whispers  Lanty  with  an  enraptured  ogle. 

Whereupon  the  young  lady  elevates  a  coquettish  nose 
in  the  air  and  says:  "You  must  not  address  me  that 
way.  My  father  wouldn't  like  it!"  Then  she  adds, 
poutingly:  "  But  I  forgive  you — it — it's  the  last  chance 
that  you'll  have  !" 

"  'The  last  chance  I'll  have  ?'  What — what  makes 
ye  think  that  ?"  stammers  Lanty,  his  spirit  drooping  a 
little  at  this,  for  the  young  lady's  charms  of  face  and 
manner  and  fortune  have  enraptured  the  ardent  Irish 
man's  soul. 

"Because  from  now  on  I  am  going  to  be  brought  up 
after  the  manner  of  the  noblesse.  Father  says  he's  rich 
enough  to  give  me  the  surroundings  of  a  lady  of  fashion. " 


THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER.  23 

And  mademoiselle  flounts  her  petticoats  out  and  takes 
her  steps  in  the  mincing  manner  of  great  ladies,  display 
ing  to  Lanty's  devouring  eyes  her  very  attractive  red 
stockings  and  well  shod  feet. 

"Bedad  !  then  I'm  just  the  man  to  put  you  into 
dacint  society,"  says  Lanty.  "Who  could  do  it  better 
than  the  soldier  and  the  gintlemin  ?" 

"  I'm  afraid  the  soldier  and  the  gentleman  will  see 
very  little  of  me,"  returns  Marie,  laughingly,  though 
there  is  a  shade  of  concern  in  her  voice.  "I'm  to 
have  a  governess  and  a  maid  servant  with  me  on  my 
next  promenade.  Will  the  soldier  have  the  courage  to 
face  a  governess  and  a  maid  servant  ?  " 

"Bedad!  for  you  I'd  have  the  courage  to  face  a 
squadron  of  governesses  and  a  regiment  of  maid 
servants!  Do  ye  think  I'm  going  to  let  yer  old  divil  of 
a  father  put  ye  out  of  my  way  when  I  am  just  begin 
ning  to  love  ye  ?" 

"Love  me  ?  "  gasps  the  girl,  growing  red  but  pleased. 
"  Love  me,  Mr.  Lanty  ?  " 

"  Aye,  and  MARRY  ye, "  replies  the  Irishman.  "  Marie, 
acushla !  ye're  to  be  the  future  Mrs.  Lanty  Lanigan. 
Put  that  down  in  your  prayer  book  and  think  of  it  when 
ye  say  yer  Ave  Marias  ivery  mornin',  as  I  hope  ye  do, 
loike  a  good  girl.  Ye  can  tell  yer  father  that  with  me 
compliments. " 

"Indeed,  I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  kind — I  dare 
not, "says  the  girl.  "My  father  talks  of  betrothing 
me  to  the  rich  Monsieur  Potteau.  He's  worth  five 
millions. " 

"  Mother  of  Moses!  the  ex-footman  of  the  Comte  de 
Broglie!"  gasps  Lanty.  .  "That's  puttin'  ye  into 
society  the  same  as  an  introduction  to  the  divil  is  send 
ing  you  to  heaven.  Be  my  soul,  hasn't  yer  father 
enough  money  ?  \Vhat  ye  want  in  yer  family  now  is  a 
little  good  blood,  which  I  am  prepared  to  furnish  to 
order;  aye,  and  to  shed  it  for  ye,"  cries  Lanty.  "  I'll 
run  that  footman  through  his  flunky  gizzard  before  he 
even  kisses  yer.  Speaking  of  kisses,  Marie,  darlint, 
come  into  the  back  alley." 

Then  taking  the  girl  by  the  arm  in  a  very  uncere 
monious  way,  Mr.  Lanty  says:  "Marie,  answer  me,  as 
ye  would  yer  patron  saint:  Which  would  ye  sooner 


24  THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER. 

have,  the  dashing  soldier,  Mr.  Lanigan,  or  the  flunkey- 
bred  footman  of  the  Comte  de  Broglie  ?  " 

"  Don't — don't  ask  me, "gasps  the  girl. 

"  Bedad!  that's  the  way  I  loike  to  have  ye  talk — 
agitated.  Agitation  shows  emotion;  emotion  shows 
love.  Marie,  which  would  ye  sooner  have  ?  Don't 
dally  with  me!  WHICH?  Look  me  in  the  eye  and  say  it!  " 

"You,"  cries  the  girl,  with  a  merry  laugh. 

"Then  come  into  the  back  alley  and  give  me  a 
kiss!  " 

But  breaking  away  from  his  restraining  arms  she  hurries 
into  the  crowd,  and  in  spite  of  Lanty's  pursuit,  her  agile 
feet,  in  the  great  throng,  outdistance  and  elude  him. 

At  last  the  red  stockings  pass  out  of  sight  and  he 
muses:  "Bedad,  I  think  I've  got  her.  Now,  for  her 
father!  Money  is  what  will  appeal  to  the  provincial 
soul  of  the  Savoyard  Chambery,  more  than  all  the  good 
blood  of  the  Lanigans.  Musha!  up  goes  the  prices  in 
The  Turk's  Head !  By  Saint  Patrick !  won't  I  beggar 
my  boarders!  " 

With  this  Shylock  idea  in  his  mind,  going  back  to  his 
duties  as  maitre  <fh6tel,  Lanty  cries  excitedly  to  a  waiter 
who  has  brought  complaint  to  him :  "  What's  this  about 
Monsieur  le  Baron  de  Boussier — complains  of  me  raisin' 
the  price  of  his  apartments,  does  he  ?  Tell  the  Baron, 
with  me  compliments,  not  to  be  so  lazy  and  aristocratic, 
and  go  on  the  Rue  Quincampoix  and  make  some  money. 
Faix,  I've  got  a  much  better  offer  for  his  apartment 
from  Le  Pellouse,  who  was  a  butcher  three  weeks  ago, 
and  is  now  a  millionaire  Mississippian.  By-the-bye, 
while  we're  thinkin'  of  it,  make  proclamation  in  the 
cafe"  that  everything  eatable  and  drinkable  will  be  double 
from  to-day  on  !  Bedad,  I'll  also  tell  Monsieur  Beau- 
leau,  that  beggarly  Swiss,  I've  popped  up  the  cost  of 
his  garret  room  ten  livres  a  day  !  " 

For  the  price  of  living  had  risen  with  the  increased 
population  of  Paris,  which  in  two  years  had  become 
greater  by  three  hundred  thousand  people,  and  was 
augmenting  at  the  rate  of  over  a  thousand  a  day.  This 
concourse,  under  the  primitive  means  of  transportation 
at  that  time,  was  becoming  even  difficult  to  provision. 

These  various  financial  arrangements  of  Mr.  Lanigan 
are  by  no  means  looked  upon  by  his  customers  \rith 


THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER.  25 

pleasant  eyes.  Monsieur  le  Baron  de  Boussier  twists 
his  aristocratic  moustache  and  exclaims  :  "  Parbleu ! 
At  this  rate,  these  stockbrokers  are  the  only  ones  who 
will  be  able  to  afford  bread  and  wine." 

Various  other  exclamations  of  disgust  come  from 
people  seated  in  the  cafe  at  the  announcement  which  is 
being  made  in  strident  voice  by  the  waiter. 

Hearing  this,  the  Irish  landlord  steps  in  and  remarks 
in  his  blandest  tone  :  "The  waiter  made  a  mistake  !" 

"Of  course  it  was  a  mistake  !"  cry  some  of  the 
guests,  delighted.  And  others  laugh:  "  Sac  re  bleu! 
Your  gar$on  is  a  cochon  !  " 

"  Faix,  yes  !  He  said  I  had  doubled  the  price  of 
provisions — it's  an  error — I  told  the  imbecile  to  put  'em 
three  times  as  high.  I  want  ye  all  to  know  this  is  the 
capital  of  France,  and  yer  livin'  in  an  expensive  city; 
and  if  ye  think  ye  can  foind  cheaper  rates,  ye'd  better 
apply  next  door,  where  they'll  starve  ye  and  charge  ye 
more  !  " 

At  this  there  is  a  kind  of  "  God  help  us  !  "  groan 
from  his  customers. 

But  in  the  midst  of  the  very  pleasing  scene  Mr. 
Lanigan  receives  a  shock  that  makes  him  oblivious  of 
the  price  of  provisions  in  Paris. 

A  young  gentleman,  in  :he  handsome  dress  of  an 
aristocrat  of  that  day,  who  has  been  seated  apparently 
waiting  for  something  to  turn  up,  for  he  has  simply  called 
for  a  bottle  of  vin  ordinaire,  and  has  dawdled  over  this, 
suddenly  rises  from  his  table,  and  walks  up  to  his  host, 
crying  very  savagely:  " Diable !  You  dare  raise  the 
price  of  provisions,  reptile  ?  " 

Turning  upon  him  with  a  snarl  of  rage,  for  the  Irish 
man's  disposition  is  not  a  Christian  one  under  provoca 
tion,  Mr.  Lanigan's  eyes  suddenly  roll  in  his  head,  and 
he  gasps:  "  Giniral  d'Arnac  !  " 

"Hush!"  whispers  the  other,  quickly.  "Quarrel 
with  me  till  I  get  you  into  another  room  !  " 

With  this  he  suddenly  bursts  out  into  a  jabber  of 
French  invective,  and  drags  the  astounded  Lanty  into  a 
neighboring  apartment. 

Here  Raymond  suddenly  whispers:  "Keep  cool  ! — I 
have  got  some  good  news  for  you." 

"  You — you  have  found  him — alive  ?  " 


26  THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER. 

"Yes  !" 

"Holy  St.  Pathrick  !  "  and  such  a  wild  howl  of 
unutterable  joy  comes  into  the  cafe"  that  his  customers 
spring  up  from  their  seats,  but  are  sure  that  Mr.  Lani- 
gan  has  won  his  battle  with  his  irate  customer. 

"Quiet!"  mutters  Raymond,  "don't  let  your  joy 
overcome  you  ! "  for  there  are  tears  in  the  Irish 
veteran's  eyes,  and  he  gasps,  "Where  did  you  find 
him  ?  What  did  they  do  to  him  that  night  ?  " 

"Restrain  yourself,"  whispers  the  young  officer, 
"  for  your  old  master's  safety.  No  matter  what  your 
rage  and  indignation  at  his  wrongs  may  be,  keep  your 
tongue  quiet  !  " 

" What  happened  to  him?  By  me  soul,  if  they've 
hurt  a  hair  of  his  wig  I'll  avenge  him  !  "  mutters  the 
Irishman. 

"To  do  that,  keep  quiet  !" 

"Faix,   I'm  still  as  a  sarpint. " 

"Then  listen,"  and  Raymond  gives  him  hurriedly 
but  succinctly  an  account  of  how  he  had  discovered  his 
old  master  in  the  galleys,  with  the  various  details 
connected  with  it,  which  is  broken  in  upon  by  little 
exclamations  of  horror,  and  sometimes  a  grinding  of 
the  teeth,  and  muttered  curses  from  the  sturdy  Irish 
man,  as  he  appreciates  the  horror  of  what  has  come  to 
his  old  master. 

As  Raymond  finishes  he  suddenly  says:  "Where  is 
he?  Why  didn't  ye  bring  him  in — sure  wouldn't 
O'Brien  Dillon  get  hospitality  of  me  and  protection  by 
my  life — if  the  ghost  of  old  Richelieu  were  after  him  in 
person." 

"  He  is  not  here.  Monsieur  d'Argenson,  Lieutenant- 
General  of  police,  has  too  many  spies  about  to  transport 
easily  into  Paris  a  man  without  a  passport.  I  have  left 
him  outside  the  gates  at  Passy.  You  go  there  every 
morning  ? " 

"Yes,  in  a  covered  cart." 

"You  buy  vegetables  at  the  garden  of  a  man  named 
Shoteau  ? " 

"  How  did  ye  know  that  ?" 

"My  sister,  la  Marquise  de  Chateaubrien. " 

"Ah,  yes.  Faith,  she's  been  a  very  good  friend  to  me 
since  I've  been  in  business  here — God  bless  her  swate 


THE    KING  S    STOCKBROKER.  27 

face  !  "  mutters  Lanty,  for  he  has  not  been  backward 
in  asking  for  trade,  and  Mimi  Chateaubrien  has  sent 
a  good  many  customers  to  the  Turk's  Head  Inn. 

"  Very  well,  at  the  garden  of  Shoteau,  O'Brien  Dillon 
will  meet  you.  Then  in  your  covered  cart  you  can 
bring  him  to  your  inn  and  keep  him  quietly  here." 

"  Faix,  I  would,  but  there's  divil  a  vacant  room  in 
the  house.  Iverything  is  let,  and  I  slape  on  the  table 
meself,"  returns  Lanty,  rubbing  his  red  head. 

"  You  must  make  room." 

"  Very  well,  I'll  raise  that  Papillon,  the  stockbroker, 
out  of  his  apartments.  Bedad,  O'Brien  Dillon  shall 
have  the  best  in  the  house.  I'll  put  them  at  one  hun 
dred  livres  a  day.  Even  that  rich  beast  won't  stand 
that  price ! " 

"Then,  don't  let  O'Brien  leave  his  rooms  until  I 
have  seen  him.  Come  to  me,  at  the  Hotel  de  Chateau 
brien  as  soon  as  you  have  brought  him  here.  I  can 
depend  upon  you,  Lanty  ? " 

"As  in  God  !  "  is  the  modest  assurance  of  the  Irish 
man.  "I'll  have  the  cart  ready  in  two  minutes." 

And  he  goes  away,  muttering  :  "Wirra  !  wirra  !  good 
God  of  Heaven!  curse  'em!  In  the  galleys — oh,  me 
dear  master!  "  Then  he  gnashes  his  teeth  together  and 
chuckles  hideously  :  "  By  all  the  souls  of  the  Saints,  I 
pity  Uncle  Johnny  Law,  Madame  Hilda  and  Cousin 
Charlie  de  Moncrief,  if  O'Brien  Dillon  is  half  the  man 
he  once  was  !  " 

But  while  doing  this  he  is  harnessing  his  donkey  into 
his  cart,  and  some  five  hours  after  comes  to  the 
great  mansion  of  Raymond's  widowed  sister,  the  Hotel 
de  Chateaubrien  on  the  Rue  St.  Honore,  and  being 
ushered  in  by  numerous  flunkeys  is  there  received  by 
D'Arnac  and  Madame  la  Marquise,  who  appears  very 
bright  and  charming  this  summer  day,  as  she  has 
thrown  off  mourning. 

There  is  a  look  of  intense  interest  in  her  face,  for  her 
brother  has  felt  himself  compelled  to  tell  her  of  the 
treachery  of  De  Moncrief  to  his  friend,  and  his  belief 
of  Cousin  Charlie's  cowardly  attempts  at  his  own  life 
by  means  of  military  duty,  during  the.  war  upon  the 
Rhine. 

This  revelation  of  the  cold  villainy  of  a  man  bound 


28  THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER. 

to  them  by  ties  of  blood,  and  whom  she  has  until  now  at 
least  thought  her  brother's  friend,  has  made  her  ner 
vous  and  excited. 

"Well  ?"  cries  Mimi  anxiously,  for  she  has  become 
enthused  herself  in  Raymond's  battle  for  his  old 
comrade. 

"Well,  bless  your  swate  face,  Mrs.  Marquise,"  says 
Lanty,  "I've  got  him  at  the  Turk's  Head  Inn.  I 
brought  him  in  disguised  with  me  cabbages." 

"  You  came  past  the  gates  all  right  ?  "asks  Raymond. 

"Faix,  and  I  did,  but  I'm  afraid  we'll  have  to  be 
moving  him  from  my  tavern  very  shortly." 

"Why?" 

"Because  he's  so  very  nervous,  he  trembles  and 
shivers  at  ivery  click  of  the  billiard  balls  in  my  cafe. 
God  help  us  !  that  a  soldier  should  fear  balls  of  any 
kind." 

"He  must  stand  the  click  of  the  ivories  for  a  day  or 
two,  until  I  can  find  him  other  quarters  !  "  mutters 
D'Arnac,  chewing  his  moustache. 

"  Bedad,  I  think  we'll  have  to  move  him  before." 

"  Pooh  !  billiard  balls  won't  make  him  sick.  He'll 
get  used  to/them  in  time." 

"Nevertheless  I  think  we'd  better  mov«  him  at 
once!  "  persists  Lanty. 

"  Impossible!  " 

"  Quicker  than  lightning!  " 

"  Diabh!  Why?" 

"Because,  by  me  soul,  COUSIN  CHARLIE'S  SEEN  HIM 
ALREADY!  "  answers  Lanty.  "  I  thought  I'd  break  the 
news  to  you  very  gently,"  he  mutters  as  he  gazes  on 
Raymond  who  has  grown  deathly  pale,  and  his  sister 
who  has  given  a  suppressed  shriek  and  fallen  shudder 
ing  into  a  chair. 


CHAPTER  III. 

COUSIN    CHARLIE    SEES    A    GHOST. 

"Charles  de   Moncrief  has    seen     him!"   whispers 
Raymond,  with  white  lips. 

"  Cousin  Charlie!  "  gasps  Mimi, 


THE    KING  S    STOCKBROKER.  29 

Then  she  falters  up,  and  putting  her  arms  about  her 
brother  says:  "  If  they  discover  that  you  have  abducted 
a  galley  slave  what  may  they  not  do  to  you  ?  " 

"  Ye're  both  almost  as  frightened,"  replies  Lanty, 
"as  Cousin  Charlie  was  when  he  saw  him  ?  " 

"  You  are  sure  he  recognized  him  ?  " 

"  Faix,  an'  I'm  afraid  he  did!  Charlie  nearly  died  in 
the  cafe,  and  it  took  four  strong  brandies  to  revive  him 
in  the  wine  room.  I  didn't  know  what  was  the  matter 
with  him,  as  I  was  strengthening  the  old  villain  up." 

"Quick!  How  did  it  occur?"  mutters  D'Arnac 
anxiously. 

"  Well,  you  see  I  raised  the  rent  of  his  apartments, 
upon  that  stockbroker  Papillon,  to  one  hundred  livres 
a  day,  and  by  me  soul,  hang  me,  if  he  didn't  stand  the 
raise!  Oh,  the  money  these  creatures  are  making  now 
adays.  So  I  jumped  his  rent  to  two  hundred  livres  a 
day,  and  told  him  I  wouldn't  discuss  it — he  had  no 
lease  of  the  apartments,  and  Papillon  went  away  curs 
ing. 

"  Meantime  I  had  got  O'Brien  Dillon  in  from  Passy, 
and  put  him  quietly  into  the  rooms,  and  tucked  him  to 
bed  with  some  pipes  and  tobacco  at  his  elbow,  and  a 
whiskey  bottle  convanient,  for  he's  not  quite  up  to  his 
old  tune,  though  I've  great  hopes  he'll  soon  become 
himself  again.  He  took  as  natural  to  his  pipe  and 
whiskey  as  he  ever  did. 

"  With  that  I  left  him  quietly  asleep  and  came  down  to 
my  business  about  the  hotel,  when,  as  bad  luck  would 
have  it,  your  Cousin  Charlie  de  Moncrief,  who  has 
some  business  with  this  stockbroker  Papillon — some  sly 
business  I  think  it  is,  that  he  does  not  care  about 
anyone's  knowing  about  but  himself — came  to  see  him 
at  his  rooms,  and  inquiring  in  his  sneaking  way  from 
one  of  the  servant  maids  (who  knew  nothing  about  what 
I  had  been  doing)  she  directed  him  to  what  she  supposed 
were  Papillon 's  apartments,  and  in  he  went. 

"  Faix,  O'Brien  Dillon  must  have  been  ashlape,  other 
wise  that  sneaking  divil  would  never  have  got  out  alive. 
But  I'm  afraid  he  recognized  him.  The  first  I  saw  of 
him  he  came  in  staggering  pale  as  if  he'd  seen  a  ghost, 
and  as  soon  as  he  clapped  eyes  on  me  he  gave  a  little 
shriek  of  horror  and  feinted  dead  away  in  the  cafe, 


30  THE  KING'S  STOCKBROKER. 

I  like  a  fool  looking  at  him  didn't  know  the  cause  of  it, 
and  went  to  pouring  brandy  down  the  beast's  throat, 
and  every  time  he  revived  a  little  and  saw  me  he  nearly 
died  again. 

"  Until  finally  I  got  him  in  a  voiture  and  sent  him  off. 
But  thinking  over  the  matter,  a  frightful  idea  flashed 
through  me,  and  I  made  inquiries,  and  found  that  Cousin 
Charlie  had  been  in  the  room  along  with  the  master, 
and  that  the  reason  Monsieur  Charlie  de  Moncrief 
needed  so  much  brandy  to  keep  him  alive  was  his  fear 
ful  interview  with  the  sleeping  goblin  of  O'Brien  Dillon. " 

"We  must  get  O'Brien  out  of  town  at  once! "  cries 
Raymond. 

"  Faix,  I'll  take  him  out  as  a  cabbage  agin,"  remarks 
Lanty,  and  turns  to  go. 

But  D'Arnac  calls  him  back  suddenly,  and  says:  "  No, 
on  second  thought  Charles  de  Moncrief  dare  not  sleep 
to-night  if  he  guesses  O'Brien  Dillon  is  in  town  and 
free  for  vengeance.  Dillon  will  be  seized  surely  at  the 
gates.  I  know  enough  of  D'Argenson  and  his  secret 
police  to  be  aware  of  that.  Have  you  no  other  place 
you  can  conceal  him  ?  " 

"'Deed,  an'  I  have.  I've  just  bought  L'Epee  du 
Bois,  Cabaret,  and  a  very  pretty  turn  I've  made  by  it. 
I'll  take  him  there  for  the  present." 

"Where  is  the  place  ?  " 

"On  the  Ruede  Venise,  just  out  of  the  Quincampoix." 

"Very  well,  I'll  meet  you  there  in  two  hours,"  replies 
Raymond. 

Then  the  Irishman  going  away,  his  sister  looks  at 
D'Arnac,  and  her  bright  mind  coming  into  the  situation 
she  says:  "You  may  be  safer  than  you  imagine.  Do 
you  think  the  great  policeman  D'Argenson  whose  spies 
are  everywhere  would  have  let  you  bring  Dillon  into 
Paris  if  he  had  not  unshed  it?'1  To  this  she  adds 
anxiously:  "What  are  you  going  to  do  ? " 

"  I'm  going  to  fight  this  affair  open  and  in  the  light 
of  day.  I  am  a  soldier,  not  a  policeman!"  says  the 
young  officer  impetuously. 

"Bravo!  How?" 

"By  the  Due  de  Villars.  He  took  great  personal 
interest  in  his  old  officer.  I  shall  ask  him  to  see  that 
justice  is  done  to  one  of  the  bravest  soldiers  of  his  army. 


THE    KING  S   STOCKBROKER.  3! 

If  he  cannot  aid  me  I  shall  go  to  the  German  Embas- 
sador,  for  O'Brien  Dillon  is  a  Comte  of  the  Empire,  and 
general  in  the  Austrian  service." 

"That's  right,  brother!  "  cries  Mimi,  her  eyes  spark 
ling.  Then  she  adds  eagerly:  "If  any  little  feminine 
artifice  will  help  you,  call  upon  Mimi  de  Chateaubrien. 
She  is  a  widow  and  of  course  artful!  " 

Going  away  with  her  words  in  his  ear,  her  kiss  on  his 
cheek,  D'Arnac  drives  hurriedly  to  the  residence  of 
Hector  de  Villars,  and,  fortunately  finding  that  grandee 
in,  is  immediately  ushered  into  the  presence  of  the 
Marechal  of  France. 

"I  had  been  expecting  you,  my  boy,"  says  his  old 
chief,  kindly.  "I  am  delighted  to  greet  you  as  Lieu- 
tenant-General  and  Lieutenant-Colonel  of  the  Musque- 
taires  Noirs.  Egad!  you'll  be  a  marechal  younger  than 
I  was.  I  was  not  a  lieutenant-general  till  I  was  thirty, 
and  you  are  only " 

"Twenty-six,"  remarks  D'Arnac,  and  commences  to 
thank  De  Villars  for  what  he  has  done  for  him. 

But  that  officer  astonishes  his/r<?/^/by  saying :  ' '  Pooh ! 
don't  thank  me — thank  the  Marquis  d'Argenson,  Keeper 
of  the  Seals  and  Lieutenant-General  de  Police." 

"  Thank  him?  He  is  my  enemy — he  is  the  friend  of 
Law!  "  gasps  Raymond,  opening  his  eyes  with  astonish 
ment. 

"  Nevertheless  D'Argenson  applied  to  the  Regent  for 
your  appointment,  and  D'Orleans,  remembering  your 
saving  Law's  life  at  the  Theatre  Frangais,  thought  your 
promotion  would  please  the  King's  stockbroker," 
remarks  De  Villars  (applying  a  name  to  the  financier 
that  was  becoming  a  popular  one  in  France  at  that 

day).  "Then, "he  continues,  "they  asked  me,  and 
j " 

"And  you?" 

"  Oh,  I  told  them  you  were  a  good  soldier  and  a  fine 
fighter." 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  you,"  interjects  D'Arnac. 

"  But,"  chuckles  De  Villars,  "I  told  them  that,  with 
the  gallantry  of  youth,  you  had  its  impetuosity.  Dost 
remember  the  elopement  with  Madame  O  Brien  Dillon, 
eh,  my  youthful  Bayard?" 

"And  it  is  this  very  impetuosity,  "breaks  in  Raymond, 


32  THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER. 

"  that  brings  me  to  you.  I  have  come  to  you  to  right 
a  wrong  that  has  been  done  to  a  man  who  was  once 
one  of  your  favorite  officers." 

"  Diable!  Whose  wrong?"  growls  the  veteran, 
bristling  up. 

"  O'Brien  Dillon's!     They  made  him  a  galley  slave!" 

"Good  God!     For  what?" 

"  For  making  an  uncommonly  good  shot  at  billiards." 

"  Tonnerre  de  Dieu!  You  don't  mean  it,"  mutters 
the  mare"chal,  grinding  his  teeth. 

"  Yes,  I  do!"  and  Raymond  gives  a  full  account  of 
the  whole  affair.  Then  he  says:  "What  will  you  do  for 
me?" 

And  De  Villars  puts  him  to  despair.  He  remarks 
sententiously,  "  It  is  an  affair  of  the  police!  The  police 
should  rectify  it." 

"  The  police — Impossible!  They  are  friends  of  Law, 
and  against  my  friend!" 

"They  were  the  friends  of  Law.  Monsieur  d'Argen- 
son,  I  imagine,  is  now  his  enemy.  Go  to  Monsieur 
d'Argenson  and  ask  his  advice,  and  I  think  it  will  be  the 
advice  of  a  friend.  I  imagine  he  wants  your  assistance 
in  the  army — and  will. give  you,  in  return,  his  aid  as  a 
policeman." 

"  But  if  he  does  not — if  he  should  seize  me  in  his  office 
for  conspiring  to  assist  the  escape  of  a  galley  slave  ! " 
mutters  D'Arnac.  "  D'Argenson  has  arrested  many  a 
greater  noble  and  higher  officer  than  I  am,  in  his  day." 

"  If  you  are  not  back  in  one  hour,"  returns  the  mare- 
chal,  ' '  I  will  go  to  the  Regent  myself,  and  to  the  Austrian 
Embassador  and,  by  my  soul  !  it  will  be  odd  if  Hector 
de  Villars  cannot  get  a  little  justice  out  of  easy-going 
D'Orleans,  even  though  his  financier  opposes  it.  But 
you  should  catch  D'Argenson  at  his  office  at  once." 

"  I  will  go  !  "  mutters  D'Arnac,  desperately.  "It's 
like  putting  my  head  in  the  lion's  mouth,  but  I  will  go  !  " 

' '  Very  well, "  replies  his  chief,  giving  the  young  man  a 
cordial  grip  of  the  hand,  "  if  you  are  not  back  in  one  hour 
De  Villars  will  then  move  on  the  enemy!  " 

Inspired  by  hope  at  the  words  of  a  man  upon  whose 
standard  victory  had  so  often  perched,  Raymond  springs 
into  his  carriage  again,  and  goes  rushing  through  the 
streets  of  Paris,  in  which  he  cannot  help  noting  the  marvel- 


THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER.  33 

ous  increase  in  the  crowds  of  people  in  his  year's  absence 
— the  wondrous  multiplication  of  the  equipages  and  their 
greater  richness  of  liveries  and  trappings  and  adorn 
ment.  But,  shortly  crossing  into  the  lie  de  la  Cite",  he 
comes  to  the  Palais  of  Justice  and  the  office  of  Monsieur, 
le  Marquis  d'Argenson,  who,  though  Keeper  of  the  Seals 
of  France,  still  holds  the  spies,  the  mouchards  and  the 
sergeants  de  ville  of  Paris  within  his  grasp. 

There  he  is  almost  immediately  ushered  into  the  private 
office,  and  stands  confronting  Marc  Ren£  d'Argenson, 
the  greatest  policeman  and  the  poorest  financier  of  his 
day ;  so  poor  a  manipulator  of  funds  that  six  years  before, 
though  he  had  held  the  power  over  all  Paris  as  Lieutenant- 
General  of  Police  for  over  a  quarter  of  a  century,  on  the 
death  of  Louis  XIV.  this  man  had  suffered  almost  personal 
want,  where  others  would  have  found  themselves  certainly 
prosperous — probably  rich. 

He  has  a  clear,  cold  face,  but  peculiar  sinister 
features,  and  dark  eyes  that  have  a  marvelous  flash  du 
diable,  giving  him  the  common  appellation  of  "  The  face 
of  the  damne  !  " 

One  of  these  devil's  smiles  comes  over  D'Argenson's 
mobile  features  as  he  sees  Raymond  enter  his  apartment, 
and,  rising  eagerly,  extending  a  welcoming  hand,  he 
remarks:  "I  am  glad  to  see  you  once  more,  General 
d'Arnac  !  Permit  me  to  congratulate  you  upon  the  high 
office  to  which  you  have  recently  been  called.  I  think 
I  may,  without  vanity,  say  that  I  have  had  something  to 
do  with  your  promotion." 

"For  which  I  have  called  to  tender  my  thanks. 
Monsieur  le  Due  de  Villars  has  just  informed  me  of  your 
kindness,"  returns  D'Arnac. 

"And  you  have  called  for  nothing  else?  "  smiles  the 
Minister  of  Police;  though  the  contortion  of  his  features 
makes  the  expression  a  sneer. 

"Yes,"  answers  Raymond,  frankly. 

"Oh,  ho!  I  have  been  expecting  you  here  for  two 
hours,"  laughs  D'Argenson.  Then  he  says,  signifi 
cantly  :  "Ever  since  your  old  comrade  of  the  Rhine 
campaign,  O'Brien  Dillon,  Comte  of  the  Empire,  came 
in  by  the  Port  de  Passy,  concealed  in  cabbages." 

At  this  there  is  a  gasp  of  astonishment  from  D'Arnac. 

"Do  not  fear, " replies  D'Argenson,  "for  your  friend. 


34  THE  KING'S  STOCKBROKER. 

I  imagine  it  is  on  his  behalf  that  you  come  to  me!" 
The  eyes  of  the  great  policeman  gleam  with  triumphant 
acuteness.  Then  he  adds  tersely  but  affably :  "If  you 
want  me  to  be  of  real  assistance  to  you,  you  must  tell 
me  the  whole  matter." 

"I  will!"  answers  D'Arnac  with  military  frankness, 
for  he  commences  to  perceive  De  Villars'  prognostica 
tions  are  coming  true. 

With  this  he  attempts  to  relate  the  whole  story  of 
O'Brien  Dillon,  commencing  at  his  billiard  shot  in  the 
Cafe"  St.  Michel. 

"You  may  skip  all  that, "  interjects  D'Argenson.  "I 
am  perfectly  aware  of  the  facts  in  his  case  until  he 
reached  the  galleys.  Tell  me  the  rest." 

This  Raymond  does,  giving  the  complete  account 
of  the  affair,  even  to  De  Moncrief's  recognition  of 
the  escaped  format  in  the  tavern  of  the  Turk's  Head, 
and  Lanty's  remarks  upon  the  terrible  fear  and  trem 
bling  it  had  brought  upon  the  Procureur  du  Roy.  At 
which  the  Lieutenant  of  Police  bursts  into  shrieks  of 
diabolic  laughter,  crying:  "I  see  him  now!  Poor  little 
De  Moncrief !  He  is  doubtless  too  ill  with  terror  to 
venture  out  as  yet.  But  he  will  soon  come  to  me  with 
his  story,  and  a  request  for  the  arrest  of  the  hiding 
galley  slave.  For,  mark  my  words,  Charles  de  Moncrief 
would  die  a  hundred  deaths  of  apprehension  under  his 
bedclothes  if  he  thought  O'Brien  Dillon  were  alive  and 
free  this  night  in  Paris!  " 

"As  he  will  be!  I  trust  in  your  good  offices,  Mon 
sieur  le  Marquis,"  returns  Raymond,  anxiously. 

"But  not  in  Paris!" 

"Why  not?" 

"O'Brien  Dillon  must  be  out  of  Paris  within  two 
hours,  to  save  a  complication — that  is,  if  you  will  take 
my  advice;  though,"  remarks  Monsieur  d'Argenson, 
smiling,  "O'Brien  Dillon  is  as  safe  here  as  you  are!" 

"How?  When  he  was  arrested  and  condemned  by  a 
tribunal  of  justice?" 

"O'BRIEN  DILLON  WAS  NOT  CONDEMNED!  A  naked 
man  was  brought  into  the  Conciergerie  charged  under 
the  name  of  Paul  Casanova  with  being  a  sorcerer, 
convicted  under  that  name,  and  sentenced  to  the 
galleys  under  that  name — but  that  does  not  condemn 


THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER.  35 

O'Brien  Dillon,  Comte  of  the  Empire  and  general  in  the 
Austrian  service.  Still  he  had  better  leave  Paris  to 
prevent  any  complication  between  myself  and  Mon- 
seigneur  Law,  just  at  present.  If  you  will  take  my 
advice,  you  will  get  your  friend  out  of  the  capital,  if 
possible  within  the  hour — certainly  within  two!  I  will 
furnish  you  the  necessary  papers  for  his  safe  transport 
into  Germany.  When  there,  if  he  wishes  to  return," 
smiles  the  Marquis,  "for  revenge  upon  Monseigneur 
Law,  who  has  twice  ruined  him,  or  to  have  it  out  with 
Charles  de  Moncrief,  your  cousin,  who  has  brought 
him  to  the  galleys,  or  to  discipline  Madame  Hilda 
de  Sabran,  mistress  of  the  Regent  of  France — but 
the  wife  of  his  bosom,  who  has  been  untrue  to  him 
with  many  gentlemen,  and  who  even  now  I  imagine 
adores  a  certain  young  general  who  blushes  when  he 
hears  her  name — let  Dillon  come  here  as  some  accred 
ited  officer  of  the  Austrian  government.  I  think  he  has 
interest  enough  with  Prince  Eugene  of  Savoy  and  the 
Imperial  Court  to  obtain  such  an  appointment.  Then  I 
feel  he  may  be  of  use  to  both  you  and  to  me!" 

And  the  face  of  the  damnd  borrows  a  twist  of  the  eyes 
from  his  master  in  Hades. 

"Within  two  hours  O'Brien  Dillon  is  out  of  Paris  en 
route  for  the  Austrian  border!  "  replies  D'Arnac. 

"  You  think  he  will  become  the  old  slashing  soldier  of 
fortune  again  ? "  queries  D'Argenson  so  anxiously  that 
Raymond  knows  that  the  officer  of  French  police  will 
have  work  for  the  officer  of  the  Austrian  army  on  his 
return  to  Paris. 

"He  has  the  spirit  of  an  Irishman  !"  returns 
Raymond. 

"And,  ma  foi !  they  throw  off  trouble  like  spaniels 
throw  off  water.  Then  au  revoir!"  remarks  D'Argen-  . 
son,  who,  while  he  has  been  talking,  has  been  making 
out  the  necessary  papers  for  Dillon.  "I  presume  I 
shall  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  at  the  next  court 
ball.  As  lieutenant-colonel  of  the  Musquetaires  Noirs 
you  mustn't  disappoint  the  ladies." 

"Of  course  not!"  laughs  Raymond — his  first  real 
laugh  since  he  recognized  as  galley  slave  his  comrade  of 
the  Rhine. 

Leaving  the  office  of  Monsieur  d'Argenson,  D'Arnac 


36  THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER. 

hurries  back  to  the  Due  de  Villars,  and,  telling  him  how 
the  matter  stands,  thanks  him  for  his  advice. 

Within  an  hour  after  that  he  has  elbowed  and  fought 
his  way  through  the  Rue  Quincampoix,  which  is  now 
filled  by  trading  brokers  rending  the  air  with  wild  bids 
and  offers  of  stock. 

Arrived  at  the  Rue  de  Venise,  Raymond  is  received 
by  Lanty  with  open  arms  at  the  cabaret  L'Epee  du 
Bois.  Here  they  make  hurried  arrangements  for 
O'Brien's  departure  for  Vienna,  to  which  the  Irish 
officer  eagerly  assents,  remarking:  "Faith,  a  few 
months'  rest  in  the  country  will  do  me  no  harm." 

Then  D'Arnac,  not  thinking  it  wise  to  accompany 
him  outside  the  gates,  Dillon,  shaking  hands  with  him, 
mutters:  "When  I  come  back,  I'll  be  my  old  self, 
Raymond,  me  comrade! — and  THEN — !"  His  eyes 
complete  the  awful  sense. 

A  moment  after,  as  the  wild  cries  of  the  excited 
crowd  float  up  to  them  in  the  little  cabaret  from  the 
neighboring  Quincampoix,  the  Irishman  sneers  : 
"Bedad,  Uncle  Johnny's  stockbrokers  are  making  a 
fine  howling  outside,  but  from  what  you  tell  me  of 
Monsieur  d'Argenson,  I  imagine  this  grand  stock 
speculation  is  making  a  good  many  enemies  for  the  man 
who  has  despoiled  me  of  wife  and  fortune.  Keep  that 
in  mind,  Raymond,  my  boy." 

So  with  a  parting  clasp  of  the  hand  O'Brien  leaves  his 
friend,  and  with  a  well  supplied  purse  furnished  by 
D'Arnac,  and  two  or  three  servants  and  flunkies,  Comte 
Dillon,  notwithstanding  the  awful  ordeal  he  has  gone 
through,  makes  a  very  pleasant  and  rapid  journey  to  the 
Austrian  capital. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  BROTHERS  PARIS. 

THIS  remark  of  Dillon's,  about  Uncle  Johnny's  stock 
speculations  making  him  enemies,  leaves  so  much  of  an 
impression  upon  Raymond's  mind,  that  going  away 
from  the  cabaret  L'Epe"e  du  Bois,  he  gets  to  speculat- 


THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER.  37 

ing  upon  Monsieur  d'Argenson's  curious  change  of 
position,  from  a  seeming  friend,  to  at  least  a  secret  foe 
of  Monseigneur  Law. 

A  remark  that  he  catches  from  one  broker  to  another, 
as  they  are  refreshing  themselves  in  the  cabaret,  would 
elucidate  it,  if  D'Arnac  had  had  data  enough  to  solve 
the  problem. 

' '  Parbleu !  "  remarks  this  speculator.  "Do  you 
know  it  is  rumored  that  the  Regent  is  going  to  give  to 
the  India  Company  the  sole  collection  of  the  taxes  of 
France  ?  If  so,  the  stock  will  double  in  value  in  less 
than  a  month. " 

"  MJH  Dieu  .'"  replies  the  man  addressed,  "  how  the 
Brothers  Paris  will  writhe !"  and  goes  into  side-split 
ting  laughter. 

The  affair  they  alluded  to  was  the  reason  of 
D'Argenson's  change  of  front,  if  Raymond  had  but 
guessed  it. 

A  few  years  before  this,  four  very  worthy  financiers 
of  Avignon  had  come  to  the  capital,  and  under  the 
name  of  the  Brothers  Paris  had  made  great  sums  of 
money  in  various  speculations;  chiefly  in  buying  and 
selling  Government  securities  that  were  very  much 
depreciated  at  that  time.  They  had  finally  obtained 
from  the  Regent  of  France  a  contract  consolidating 
the  old  Fermiers  Ge'ne'raux  of  Louis  XIV.,  each  of 
whom  collected  the  taxes  of  a  certain  province,  into 
one  great  company  called  the  new  Ferwiers  Ge'ne'raux, 
the  profits  of  which  had  been  very  great. 

This  concern,  for  a  certain  percentage,  undertaking 
the  entire  charge  of  the  tax  business  of  the  country, 
and  making  returns  to  the  royal  treasury  of  all  its 
collections  under  the  law. 

On  this  very  profitable  enterprise  Uncle  Johnny  had 
cast  longing  eyes,  and  was  at  this  very  moment  making 
arrangements,  by  means  of  his  favor  with  the  Regent, 
to  withdraw  the  same  from  the  Brothers  Paris,  and  put 
it  in  the  maw  of  the  all-grabbing — all-devouring  India 
Company. 

His  reasons  for  this  were  very  far-seeing.  Mon 
seigneur  Law  (called  generally,  for  some  unknown  and 
inexplicable  reason  by  the  people  of  France,  Lass)  had 
determined  to  have  no  other  stock  in  France  in  which 


38  THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER. 

the  public  could  invest  their  money,  save  that  of  the 
all-pervading  India  Company. 

When  this  has  been  accomplished,  he  is  then  prepared 
to  make  the  boldest,  the  most  astonishing,  and  the  most 
audacious  proposition  any  single  individual  ever  made 
to  the  government  of  any  great  country;  but  until  he 
has  destroyed  every  other  floating  investment  in  the 
realm,  he  cannot  move  in  this  colossal  scheme. 
Therefore  he  has  been  putting  out  his  lines,  and  laying  his 
plans  for  this  great  financial  coup  d'etat ;  the  practical 
annihilation  of  the  new  Fermiers  Gtne'raux  being 
his  present  objective  point. 

Now  these  Brothers  Paris  were  four  very  diplomatic 
and  very  shrewd  gentlemen  of  the  Hebrew  persuasion, 
who  are  not  generally  very  much  at  fault  when  it  comes 
to  business  matters  pertaining  to  gold  and  shekels. 
And  they  were  struggling  with  all  their  might  and  main 
and  intrigue,  to  prevent  the  astute  Scotchman  from 
shearing  the  children  of  Israel. 

The  youngest  brother,  Monsieur  Reuben,  was  a  most 
bizarre  and  avaricious  speculator,  and  had  made  con 
siderable  money  out  of  his  enemy  already  by  adroit 
speculations  in  the  stocks  of  the  India  Company.  But 
he  did  not  propose  that  his  own  pet  concern  should  be 
absolutely  wiped  from  the  face  of  the  street.  To  avoid 
this  he  was  gaining  all  the  friends  that  were  possible, 
and  had  approached  Monsieur  d'Argenson  (whom  he 
had  known  in  his  wily  mind  to  be  always  lukewarm  in 
his  friendship  for  Law)  with  such  magnificent  financial 
offers  that  the  Lieutenant-General  of  Police  has  fallen 
under  his  bribes. 

Together  they  are  scheming  to  get  with  them  the 
blustering,  devil-may-care  De  Conti,  and  have  been 
assisted  in  this  by  Monsieur  Charles  de  Moncrief,  who 
has  a  grudge  both  against  the  policeman  and  the  prince 
for  the  atrocious  merriment  in  which  they  indulged 
upon  his  appearance  as  a  senile  cupid  at  the  first  £al 
de  I  Opera  ever  given  in  Paris. 

For  Cousin  Charlie  never  forgives,  and  he  has  deter 
mined  in  his  acute  yet  narrow  mind  that  Monseigneur 
Lass  is  destined  to  be  the  great  power  of  the  nation, 
and  that  the  Regent  of-  France  is  going  to  be  forever 
his  backer  and  friend,  and  that  anyone  whom  he  can  put 


THE    iJNG's    STOCKBROKER.  39 

into  active  opposition  to  them  must  perforce  go  to  the 
wall — no  matter  their  power — no  matter  their  blood — 
even  if  they  are  as  strong  as  Marc  Rene",  Marquis 
d'Argenson  and  Louis  Armand  de  Bourbon,  Prince  of 
the  blood. 

To  do  this  Cousin  Charlie  has,  with  his  unscrupulous 
tongue,  very  frequently  dropped  hints  in  the  presence 
both  of  D'Argenson  and  De  Conti  of  rather  sneering 
remarks  Monseigneur  Lass  has  made  with  regard  to 
them,  which  would  have  caused  the  gentleman  to  whom 
he  attributes  them  to  open  his  eyes  in  astonishment,  as 
they  are  simply  atrocious  lies.  For  instance,  such  sug 
gestions  as  these:  "We  have  many  silver  marcs  in 
France,  but  only  one  copper  one — Marc  Rene  d'Argen 
son  !"  and  :  "What  is  the  use  of  my  trying  to  put 
money  in  the  bank  when  De  Conti  shovels  it  out  at  the 
other  end  upon  his  hundred  mistresses?" 

"  Did  Lass  say  that?"  cries  that  Prince  on  this  com 
ing  to  his  ears.  "  Did  he  say  that,  De  Moncrief  ? 
Egad  !  I'll  live  up  to  my  reputation." 

Acting  upon  this  view,  De  Conti  soon  afterwards 
makes  his  compact  with  D'Argenson,  Leblanc,  the 
stockbroker,  and  the  Brothers  Paris,  and  they  form  a 
company  called  "  The  ^//-System,"  in  contradistinc 
tion  to  the  "  System  "  of  Monseigneur  Law — the  main 
object  of  which  is  to  destroy  the  Scotchman's  power 
and  success  by  any  means  at  hand — chiefly  by  with 
drawing  all  the  money  possible  from  the  royal  bank,  of 
which  Law  is  director-in-chief. 

To  this  partnership  they  furnish  the  following  capital : 

D'Argenson,  the  police  intrigues  and  low  spying. 

De  Conti,  the  blustering,  brow-beating,  savage  as 
saults,  and,  if  necessary,  a  little  killing  and  murdering 
by  his  Italian  bravos. 

Leblanc,  the  wily  intriguing,  the  insidious  lying,  the 
putting  forth  of  disparaging  rumors  upon  the  street, 
and  the  "  bearing"  of  the  stock  of  the  India  Company, 
whenever  possible,  by  false  quotations  and  any  other 
foul  means  in  his  power. 

The  four  Brothers  Paris,  the  power  of  Israel  in  the 
enormous  capital  that  they  can  bring  to  assist  the  af 
fair,  with  whatever  additional  sly  digs  and  pushes  they 
can  inflict  upon  the  credit  of  the  India  Company. 


40  THE  KING'S  STOCKBROKER. 

But  all  this  time  outwardly,  these  gentlemen  are 
the  great  friends  of  Monseigneur  Law,  for  they  fear 
mightily  the  power  of  the  edicts  of  France,  that  they 
know  he  can  obtain  for  the  asking  from  Philippe,  Due 
d'Orleans,  Regent  of  the  realm. 

This  it  is  that  has  prevented  any  great  trouble  coming 
from  D'Argenson  upon  Raymond  d'Arnac  for  his  rob 
bery  of  the  galleys  of  France,  and  O'Brien  Dillon  for 
taking  French  leave  of  the  oar. 

The  Minister  of  Police  wishes  to  use  the  friendship 
of  the  Commander  of  Troops  in  Paris,  and  the  undying 
hatred  he  knows  must  fill  the  persecuted  Irishman  for 
the  great  financier. 

During  this  time  Cousin  Charlie  is  apparently  a  very 
great  friend  to  both  parties,  and  rubs  his  hands  to 
gether,  and  thinks,  in  his  narrow  way,  that  he  has  de 
stroyed  both  D'Argenson  and  De  Conti,  by  causing  them 
to  knock  their  heads  against  a  stone  wall  that  will  never 
fall  at  their  butting,  but  forgets  what  a  broader  mind 
would  have  instantly  perceived,  that  if  they  ever  do 
bowl  over  Monseigneur  Lass,  they  will  probably  destroy 
Charles  de  Moncrief  also,  his  fortune  at  this  time 
being  utterly  dependent  on  the  financier  for  whom  he  is 
manufacturing  enemies. 

But,  oblivious  of  this,  the  Procureur  du  Roy  placidly 
goes  on  feathering  his  nest,  taking  advantage  of  his 
being  one  of  the  directors  of  the  Bank  Royal  to  engage 
in  some  very  questionable  stock  speculations,  in  which 
he  employs  the  broker  named  Papillon. 

It  is  upon  this  business  he  has  called  to  see  his  agent 
on  the  day  in  question,  at  Papillon's  apartments  at 
Lanty's  tavern,  with  such  lamentable  results  to  his 
nervous  system. 

The  effect  upon  De  Moncrief's  nerves  is  so  great  that, 
after  seeing  the  sleeping  forfat,  and  being  revived  in 
the  cafe  of  the  Turk's  Head,  he  is  driven  to  his  rooms 
feeling  his  sixty  odd  years  a  greater  weight  than  he  has 
ever  felt  them  before. 

It  is  full  three  hours  before  he  recovers  sufficiently 
to  visit  the  office  of  the  Lieutenant  of  Police  and  beg 
him  to  take  instant  measures  for  arresting  an  escaped 
galley  slave  at  present  at  the  auberge  on  the  corner  of 
the  Rue  St.  Denis  and  the  Rue  de  Petit  Lion. 


THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER.  41 

But  this  request  is  received  in  a  very  off-hand  and 
supercilious  manner  by  Monsieur  d'Argenson  :  "  My 
dear  De  Moncrief,"  he  purrs,  "  it  is  impossible  for  any 
one  to  escape  from  the  galleys,  and  still  more  impos 
sible  for  a  fugitive  format  to  enter  Paris  without  my 
knowing  it.  Your  remarks  are  an  insinuation  upon  the 
police,  and  as  such  upon  me.  But  to  satisfy  you  I 
will  send  to  the  inn  you  speak  of  and  prove  to  you  you 
are  mistaken.  Wait  and  see  the  result  !  " 

This  Monsieur  de  Moncrief  does,  though  very  ner 
vously. 

Within  half  an  hour  the  messenger  returns  and  says 
shortly:  "The  apartments  of  Monsieur  Papillon  are 
still  occupied  by  that  stockbroker.  They  have  never 
been  vacated  by  Monsieur  Papillon." 

"  Impossible  !  "  cries  the  Procureur. 

"  Go  with  my  agent  and  see." 

Thus  commanded,  Cousin  Charlie,  taking  a  couple  of 
stout  police  officers  with  him  for  his  protection,  trem 
blingly  makes  a  return  visit  to  the  Turk's  Head  Inn, 
and  there  finds  in  his  rooms  Monsieur  Papillon,  who 
astounds  him  by  reiterating  that  he  has  never  given  up 
the  occupancy  of  them;  though  his  landlord  had  raised 
the  rent  upon  him,  he  has  still  kept  them. 

This  has  come  about  in  this  way:  Lanty,  as  soon 
as  he  had  transported  O'Brien  Dillon  to  his  cabaret  in 
the  Rue  de  Venise,  had  immediately  destroyed  any  trace 
of  the  Irishman's  occupancy,  and  the  stockbroker,  after 
a  fruitless  inquiry  for  equally  convenient  apartments  at  a 
less  rent,  had  returned,  walked  into  his  rooms,  and 
never  dreamed  anybody  had  been  in  them  during  the 
few  hours  of  his  search  for  other  lodgings. 

"  You  are  sure,  my  dear  Papillon,"  says  De  Moncrief, 
after  the  policemen  have  gone  away,  "that  no  one  else 
has  ever  been  in  these  rooms  ?  " 

' '  Of  course  not !    No  one  would  dare  to  occupy  them. " 

To  this  Cousin  Charlie  suddenly  cries :  ' '  But  you  never 
smoke,"  and  sniffs  the  air  dubiously,  for  there  is  still 
upon  the  hangings  of  the  room  a  faint  odor  of  O'Brien 
Dillon's  constant  pipe.  Whereupon  De  Moncrief 
becomes  so  nervous  that  he  is  unable  to  discuss  with 
Papillon  the  rather  shady  financial  operations  in  which 
the  two  are  engaged. 


42  THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER. 

On  going  home  he  ponders  over  the  matter,  and 
chancing  to  hear  from  his  valet  that  Raymond  has 
returned  to  Paris  from  Toulon,  where  a  number  of  the 
galleys  had  been  stationed,  a  sudden  flash  of  thought 
starts  him  for  the  Hotel  de  Chateaubrien,  in  which 
Raymond  has  taken  temporary  headquarters  with  his 
sister,  to  see  if  he  can  worm  out  some  hint  of  the  mat 
ter  from  him.  This  sudden  thought  has  been,  that  if 
anyone  in  the  world  would  assist  the  escape  of  O'Brien 
Dillon  from  the  galleys  of  France — that  man  is  his  old 
comrade  of  the  Rhine  campaign — Raymond  le  Comte 
d'Arnac,  lieutenant  general  in  the  army  of  France. 

So,  looking  much  the  worse  for  wear,  the  agitation 
of  the  last  few  hours  having  moved  him  a  year  or  two 
along  the  book  of  time,  Charles  de  Moncrief  is  ushered 
into  the  bright  salon  of  Mme.  de  Chateaubrien,  very 
eager  to  discover,  but  very  much  frightened  as  to  what 
may  be  disclosed  to  him. 

He  is  received  very  affably  by  la  Marquise;  for  her 
brother  had  just  told  her  of  the  successful  manner  in 
which  he  has  finished  the  O'Brien  Dillon  affair,  and  the 
two  have  decided  it  will  be  unwise  to  show  open  distrust 
of  their  cousin. 

Their  ease  and  light  spirits  indicate  that  neither  of 
them  have  the  fortunes  of  an  escaped  format  upon  their 
shoulders. 

Notwithstanding  this  Cousin  Charlie  goes  to  pumping 
in  his  deft  legal  way,  asking  Raymond  for  a  description 
of  the  great  water  f£te  at  Marseilles,  saying  how  much 
he  would  have  liked  to  have  been  there,  but  his  old 
bones  feared  the  journey. 

"A  little  rheumaticky,  eh?"  remarks  the  young 
officer,  and  volunteers  a  graphic  description  of  the 
festivities  at  the  commercial  port;  perhaps  rather 
incautiously  describing  the  galleys  that  have  taken  the 
semi-regal  party  to  their  fete  on  the  Island  Pomegue. 

D'Arnac's  frank  manner  during  the  whole  narration 
almost  forces  the  lawyer  to  throw  away  his  suspicions. 

Moncrief  becomes  easier  in  mind  and  chuckles :  ' '  You 
look  well,  my  young  general!  The  cares  of  office  do 
not  seem  to  oppress  you." 

"No,"  laughs  Mimi,  "I  don't  think  Raymond  would 
feel  unhappy  if  they  even  made  him  a  mare'chal ;  though, " 


THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER.  43 

says  the  young  lady  contemplatively,  "  I  think  I  made 
that  remark  to  Aunt  Clothilde  some  half-hour  ago." 

"Ah,  the  Comtesse  de  Crevecoeur — she  is  well,  I 
suppose  ? " 

"She  has  quite  recovered  from  her  bereavement, 
— but  not  from  her  poverty,"  replies  la  Marquise,  quite 
seriously. 

"Poverty — how  is  that?  "asks  Raymond,  suddenly. 
"My  uncle's  government  investments  should  have  left 
her  rich.  They're  up  to  par.  When  I  last  spoke  to 
poor  Henri  they  were  seventy-five  per  cent,  discount." 

"Alas,  he  sold  them  when  they  were  seventy-five  per 
cent,  discount !  "  replies  Mimi.  '  'It  was  the  fearful  shock 
of  their  going  up  to  par  that  probably  put  Henri  on  his 
deathbed." 

"Parbleu!  He  was  very  foolish  and  very  obstinate. 
I  advised  him  not  to,"  remarks  De  Moncrief,  content 
edly.  Though  he  is  quietly  chuckling  to  himself.  For  it 
was  really  his  insidious  suggestions  about  the  uncertainty 
of  Billets  cT Etai  that  had  induced  the  invalid  Comte 
to  sell  all  his  government  securities,  when  they  were 
seventy-five  per  cent,  below  par.  All  of  these  had  been 
deftly  purchased  by  Monsieur  Papillon,  the  agent  of 
Charles  de  Moncrief,  who  was  very  well  aware  that  they 
must  soon  be  worth  their  face  value,  under  a  certain 
little  stimulus  about  to  be  put  into  them  by  his  friend, 
Monseigneur  Law,  who  has  the  touch  of  Midas." 

"You  astonish  me,  Mimi!"  says  Raymond,  very 
seriously.  "You  really  think  the  Comtesse  is  poor?  " 

"  Poor,  not  exactly.  Though  she  thinks  she  is,  which 
is  to  her  perhaps  the  same.  Clothilde  declares  she  is 
going  to  speculate  on  the  street  to  regain  the  money  of 
which  she  assumes  she  has  been  robbed." 

"Speculate — buy  stock — one  of  our  family  !  I'll  see 
Clothilde  to-morrow.  Perhaps  I  had  better  visit  her 
to-night." 

"  Nonsense — they  all  speculate  now — the  Regent's 
edict  says  no  noble  shall  suffer  in  rank  or  prestige  by 
buying  or  selling  scrip  of  the  Bank  or  Mississippi  Com 
pany — even  the  Princes  of  the  blood  are  taking  their 
fling  in  the  street.  Besides,  I  have  another  errand  for 
you  this  evening,"  remarks  his  sister.  "Mademoiselle 
Quinault  has  sent  to  you  a  little  letter.  You  must  see  the 


44  THE  KING'S  STOCKBROKER. 

child  to-night,  Raymond;  otherwise  you  would  break 

her "    Here  Mimi  suddenly  bites  her  lips,  and  thinks 

"  Why  did  I  say  that?    One  would  imagine  I  was  trying 
to  produce  the  effect  that  I  fear  upon  my  brother." 

But  this  remark  about  Mademoiselle  Jeanne  delights 
De  Moncrief,  and  he  pats  Raymond  on  the  back  and 
chuckles:  "It  is  a  great  thing  to  be  the  guardian  of 
the  pet  of  Paris,"  then  looks  wise  and  whispers:  "  But 
there  are  rumors  about." 

"  What  rumors  ?  "  cries  D'Arnac,  savagely. 

To  this  the  Procureur  rises  and  says,  with  the  ease 
of  thegossiper:  "Ah,  dear  boy,  you  will  discover  in  time 
enough,"  and  would  go  away  quite  happy,  for  D'Arnac's 
face  is  very  expressive. 

But  as  De  Moncrief  says  adieu  to  Mimi  this  young 
lady,  remembering  Lanty's  story,  gets  to  laughing  in 
her  mind  at  Cousin  Charlie's  adventure  at  the  Turk's 
Head  Inn.  She  says  carelessly:  "You  don't  look  well 
this  evening,  poor  old  boy." 

'•'•Poor  OLD  boy — rich  YOUNG  boy!  Never  better  in 
my  life!" 

"  I  am  delighted  to  hear  that, "  remarks  Mimi,  with 
incautious  rapidity.  "I  had  heard  that  you  fainted 
four  times  to-day  in  the  cafe  of  one  Mr.  Lanigan.  I — 
then  suddenly  checks  herself  with  a  gasp,  for  Raymond 
has  a  warning  look,  and  the  old  gentleman,  in  the  very 
act  of  bowing  to  her,  has  literally  staggered  from  the 
room  as  this  careless  young  lady  cuts  short  her  words. 

But  they  are  enough!  She  has  done  the  business! 
Charles  de  Moncrief  knows  that  some  one  must  have 
brought  quick  report  to  the  Hotel  de  Chateaubrien  of 
this  morning's  adventures.  Why?  Because  there  was 
one  for  whose  welfare  they  were  anxious  at  the  inn  of 
Mr.  Lanty  Lanigan. 

"  Raymond  returned  from  Toulon  this  morning,"  he 
gasps  to  himself.  "My  ghost  arrived  this  morning.  It 
is  no  ghost."  And  he  trembles  with  shivers.  "It  is 
O'Brien  Dillon!" 

Staggering  to  his  carriage  De  Moncrief  orders: 
"  Monseigneur  Law — Place  Louis  le  Grand — like  light 
ning!" 

Entering  the  magnificent  residence  of  the  financier,  he 
begs  to  be  announced  at  once,  but  does  not  receive 


THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER.  45 

audience,  intimate  though  he  is,  for  an  hour,  for  a  great 
crowd  of  people  are  there,  imploring  to  see  the  financial 
dictator. 

Finally  getting  entrance,  Law  looks  at  him,  aston 
ished  at  his  appearance,  and  cries:  "What's  the 
matter?" 

"  Your  life  and  mine!"  whispers  De  Moncrief. 

"How?" 

"O'Brien  Dillon  has  escaped!" 

"From  the  galleys?     Impossible!" 

"  Raymond  d'Arnac  brought  him  into  Paris  with  him 
this  morning." 

At  this  there  is  a  fearful  imprecation  from  the  great 
Scotchman,  who,  though  he  has  had  many  matters  on 
his  mind,  has  not  forgotten  his  terror  of  the  Irishman, 
whom  he  has  twice  ruined  and  betrayed. 

"  You  are  sure?" 

"No  and  yes!  It  is  a  conjecture,  yet  it  is  a  cer 
tainty."  And  De  Moncrief  gives  Monseigneur  Law  all 
the  information  in  his  power. 

"  It  must  be  looked  to  at  once, "  replies  the  financier. 
"Still,  I  think  I  have  nothing  to  fear  personally — just 
at  present." 

"No!"  cries  De  Moncrief,  desperately.  "The  Regent 
has  given  you  a  guard  of  honor.  You  have  eighteen 
sentries  every  night  to  protect  you.  He  can't  get  in  and 
murder  you  in  your  bed — but  God  help  me !  I  have  no 
one  to  protect  me,  save  a  trembling  Swiss  valet  and  the 
old  concierge  who  keeps  the  door  below!  Mother  of 
Heaven !  what  shall  I  do  this  awful  night  ?  D'Argenson 
won't  believe  Dillon  has  escaped.  Perhaps  the  policeman 
will  stir  himself  when  he  hears  I'm  dead  in  my  bed 
to-morrow  morning."  And  Cousin  Charlie  wrings  his 
hands  in  a  helpless,  despairing  kind  of  way. 

"  For  that  reason,"  says  the  financier,  struggling 
with  an  uneasy  smile,  "  you  will  be  very  apt  to  follow 
my  advice  carefully." 

And  he  gives  De  Moncrief  such  instructions  that,  if 
they  are  carefully  followed,  will  certainly  in  a  little 
time  disclose  the  whole  facts  of  the  affair. 

Together  they  go  to  work  and  instantly  put  spies 
and  emissaries  hunting  all  over  Paris  for  the  supposed 
escaped  galley  slave,  and  send  dispatches  by  quick 


46  THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER. 

riders  to  trusted  agents  in  Marseilles  and  Toulon  to  see 
what  has  happened  to  for  (at  number  1392,  convicted 
under  the  name  of  Paul  Casanova  of  sorcery — is  he 
alive  or  dead? — if  living,  his  whereabouts? 

These  men  are  to  make  reports  to  De  Moncrief. 

"  I  have  too  many  other  irons  in  the  fire  at  present," 
remarks  Monseigneur  Lass.  "Besides,  it  is  a  little 
more  immediately  connected  with  your  personal  safety 
than  mine.'' 

But  as  Cousin  Charlie  takes  leave  of  Uncle  Johnny 
his  nervous  apprehensions  are  by  no  means  lessened  by 
seeing  the  financier  giving  very  careful  and  pertinent 
directions  to  the  officer  of  the  guard,  that  has  been  so 
fortunately  placed  over  his  safety  some  few  days  be 
fore  this,  by  order  of  the  Regent  of  France. 

For  the  Due  d'Orleans  is  commencing  to  regard 
Monseigneur  Law  as  his  financial  Santa  Claus  who 
gives  him  all  of  the  money  he  wishes  to  throw  away 
upon  his  sycophants  and  mistresses.  He  takes  every 
care  of  payment  off  easy-going  D'Orleans'  mind,  who 
has  but  to  spend.  Through  his  agency  the  taxes  upon 
wine,  oil  and  salt  and  other  necessaries  have  just  been 
removed,  and  the  Parisian  people  worship  the  financier 
and  the  Regent  who  made  him. 

But  the  precautions  that  Uncle  Johnny  takes  make 
Cousin  Charlie  very  anxious. 

"Mon  Dieu!"  he  mutters  to  himself,  "I  have  no 
guard — I  am  unprotected  against  that  desperate  mis 
creant  !  Tonnerre  de  Dieu  !  I  will  be  the  first  to  feel 
his  vengeance.  His  awful  eyes  turned  to  me  as  they 
put  the  chains  upon  him.  He  will  come  straight  to  my 
apartments.  To-night  I  am  a  dead  man  ! " 

Then  a  new  idea  darts  into  his  shivering  soul.  He 
drives  straight  for  his  rooms,  makes  up  hastily  by  the 
aid  of  his  valet  a  little  valise  of  clothes  and  immediate 
toilette  necessaries,  and,  taking  these  in  his  hand,  he 
says  to  Lavalle,  his  Swiss  flunkey:  "  I  am  going  into  the 
country  for  a  few  weeks — no  matter  where — a  lady — 
you  understand  ! "  (emphasizing  this  with  a  diabolical 
grin)  "  so  you  need  not  come  with  me." 

With  this  he  takes  his  departure  from  his  magnificent 
suite  of  apartments  in  the  Rue  de  Nevers,  in  search  of  a 
temporary  abiding  place  in  Paris,  and  hunts  the  town 


THE    KINGS    STOCKBROKER.  '47 

over  without  success,  the  capital  has  become  so  filled 
with  speculators  from  the  world  at  large,  who  have 
come  to  try  for  fortune  in  this  financial  Mecca,  that  it 
is  almost  impossible  to  find  a  present  resting  place  for 
one's  head  in  the  taverns  and  inns  of  Paris,  though 
additional  buildings  are  going  up  at  the  rate  of  one 
hundred  per  week. 

Even  the  power  of  money  will  not  obtain  for  Charles 
de  Moncrief  a  proper  lodging,  and  he  is  compelled  to 
pass  an  awful  night  amid  the  fleas  of  a  disreputable 
cabaret  of  the  butchers'  quarter,  where  he  dreams  the 
stings  of  these  insects  are  O'Brien  Dillon's  knife 
wounds. 

In  the  morning  he  makes  another  attempt  for  better 
accommodations;  but  in  the  midst  of  this  he  stops 
going  about  from  tavern  to  auberge — from  cheap  lodg 
ings  to  furnished  rooms,  for  this  sudden  thought  has 
made  him  quake. 

11  What  if  I  meet  him  on  the  street  ?  " 

He  cries  hurriedly  to  his  coachman:  "Drive  to 
the  Hotel  de  Crevecceur!"  Then  mutters  to  him 
self:  "That  is  safest!  He  will  never  look  for  me 
there!  Besides,  I  can  have  fine  apartments  with  my 
Aunt  Clothilde,  without  even  the  paying  for  them." 

Being  driven  to  the  house  of  the  Comtesse  de  Creve- 
coeur  in  the  Rue  St.  Andre",  he  there  takes  up  his 
quarters  in  the  very  rooms  that  D'Arnac  had  occupied 
some  few  years  before,  on  his  return  from  the  Rhine  to 
Paris. 

While  there  in  semi-hiding,  Charlie  de  Moncrief,  who 
is  never  idle,  devotes  himself  to  his  own  self-glorification 
in  the  eyes  of  his  Aunt  Clothilde  de  Crevecceur,  explaining 
to  that  avaricious  widow  the  enormous  fortune  he  is  mak 
ing  upon  the  Rue  Quincampoix.  Then  having  filled  her 
heart  with  envy  and  her  eyes  with  astonishment  at  the 
prodigious  riches  he  talks  about,  he  asks  her  does  she 
not  think  he  could  better  support  the  dignity  of  the 
House  of  Crevecceur  with  his  enormous  wealth,  than 
his  cousin,  Raymond  d'Arnac. 

"  Not  at  all,"  says  the  fat  Clothilde,  ingenuously. 

"  Indeed — why  not  ?  " 

"Because,  Monsieur  Charles,  you  would  not  be 
nearly  as  generous  to  the  widow  of  the  Comte  de  Creve- 


48  THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER. 

coeur,  with  all  your  wealth,  as  Raymond,  who  is  liber 
ality  itself  !  "  For  D'Arnac's  purse  has  always  been 
open  at  his  aunt's  bequest. 

"Ah  ha!  Then  it  is  settled,  I  suppose,  that  Ray 
mond  marries  the  little  Julie,  under  the  provisions  of 
Henri's  will  !"  mutters  the  Procureur,  attempting 
mirth. 

"Oh!  That  is  a  matter  of  the  future!"  says  the 
Countess,  airily — for  she  is  mortally  afraid  of  Cousin 
Charlie's  thwarting  the  affair." 

"You  fat  liar!"  mutters  De  Moncrief  to  himself, 
grinning  at  the  prevaricating  Clothilde.  "Raymond 
d'Arnac  signed  the  marriage  contract  ten  months  ago, 
but  the  estates  shall  yet  be  mine." 

For  Henri,  Comte  de  Crevecceur,  under  the  sugges 
tions  of  the  Procureur,  during  the  absence  of  Ray 
mond  in  Marseilles,  had  made  upon  his  deathbed  a 
very  curious  last  will  and  testament — one  over  which 
Cousin  Charlie  has  often  rubbed  his  hands  and 
chuckled. 

Apart  from  Clothilde,  after  a  little  consideration, 
Cousin  Charlie  goes  to  rubbing  his  hands  and  chuckling 
again,  muttering:  "D'Arnac  was  jealous!  Now, 
under  the  allurements  of  pretty  little  Quinault,  who  has 
all  the  pride  of  a  grande  dame,  and  all  the  enchantments 
of  the  pet  actress  of  Paris,  Raymond,  who  has  the 
enthusiasm  of  a  boy  and  the  stupid  principles  of  a 
moralist,  instead  of  the  conscience  of  a  man  of  the 
world  in  affairs  of  the  heart — may  not  keep  his  contract 
to  Mademoiselle  Julie  de  Beaumont;  and  this  beautiful 
house,  and  the  magnificent  country  estates  of  Henri  de 
Crevecceur  will  come  to  me.  With  the  millions  I  have 
made  in  stock  speculations,  I  will  become  one  of  the 
great  nobles  of  the  land,  and  it  will  be  De  Moncrief — not 
D'Arnac — who  will  be  the  head  of  the  house  of  Creve 
cceur  ! " 

Under  these  rosy  imaginings  Cousin  Charlie  becomes 
quite  sanguine;  but  his  boastings  of  his  successful  stock 
operations  on  the  Rue  Quincampoix  have  put  an  avari 
cious  devil  in  the  fat  Clothilde's  heart  that  will  not 
down,  and  some  of  her  efforts  to  become  a  female 
Croesus  bring  great  danger  to  Monsieur  le  Procureur's 
dreams  of  exalted  rank  and  grand  seignorial  rights. 


THE    KING  S    STOCKBROKER.  49 

CHAPTER  V. 

THE    NAUGHTY    QUINAULT. 

IN  HIS  designs  Monsieur  De  Moncrief  has  a  very 
potent  ally — the  natural  jealousy  of  man  toward  man. 

This  mental  force  commences  to  work  upon  the 
impetuous  Raymond  almost  directly  after  the  agitated 
exit  of  the  Procureur  du  Roy,  upon  the  night  of  his 
galley  slave  episode. 

D'Arnac  turns  to  his  sister  and  mutters  :  "Mimi, 
how  could  you  be  so  rash  ? " 

"  I  could  not  help  it!  And  didn't  my  shot  go  home? 
Besides,"  she  says  airily,  "what  have  we  to  fear  with 
D'Argenson  our  friend,  and  O'Brien  Dillon  never  even 
condemned  ? " 

Then  she  ejaculates  with  clenched  hands  and  beam 
ing  eyes:  "How  I  hated  and  despised  Cousin  Charlie 
as  I  thought  of  the  miserable  wrongs  he  had  heaped 
upon  the  brave  Irish  soldier,  plotting  his  very  destruc 
tion  as  he  broke  bread  with  him  at  your  board  that  day, 
when  Dillon  had  come  back  happy  and  rich  from  the 
conquest  of  the  Turks.  And  when  I  recollected  the 
dangers  he  had  placed  upon  your  life  through  the 
agency  of  that  scoundrel  Gaston  Lenoir,  in  the  Rhine 
campaign,  I  could  not  help  giving  Monsieur  Charles  de 
Moncrief  one  pang  of  fright  and  terror." 

A  moment  after  she  says  falteringly  :  "Perhaps 
Monsieur  Lenoir  will  have  another  grudge  against  you. 
He "  then  checks  herself  suddenly. 

"  Another  grudge  against  me — how?  " 

"Ah  —  of  course  —  how?"  stammers  the  lady. 
"How?"  Then  she  twists  her  idea  suddenly,  mur 
muring:  "  Why  might  not  Cousin  Charlie  work  upon 
Lenoir's  avaricious  mind  again?  "and  suddenly  starts, 
grows  pale,  and  cries  out  :  "  That  awful  will  !  Uncle 
Henri  was  an  idiot  to  make  it !  " 

"  You  are  referring  to  the  little  Comtesse  Julie  de 
Beaumont,"  returns  D'Arnac.  "That  will  is  not  so 
curious.  It  was  my  father's  wish  as  well  as  my  uncle's, 
that  I  should  marry  the  Comtesse  Julie.  I  might  as 
well  marry  her  as  any  other  heiress.  The  house  of 
D'Arnac  must  not  be  allowed  to  die,  my  sister.  I  have 


50  THE    KING  S   STOCKBROKER. 

already  signed  the  marriage  contract,  as  I  promised  my 
dead  father  years  ago." 

"  Then  the  sooner  you  fulfill  your  marriage  contract, 
the  better,"  cries  Mimi  excitedly. 

"  Pooh  !  there's  no  hurry." 

"  No  hurry — when  my  uncle's  will  decreed  that  in 
case  you  should  not  marry  the  Comtesse  Julie  de  Beau 
mont  on  her  eighteenth  birthday,  that  the  estates 
should  all  go  to  Charles  de  Moncrief  ?  " 

"  Pardi!  Julie's  birthday  is  a  long  way  off — next 
December,  I  believe." 

"Yes,  the  i5th  of  December,"  replies  Mimi  ;  "but  I 
pray  you  to  make  it  as  soon  as  possible,"  she  goes  on 
agitatedly. 

"Why?" 

"  Because  it  will  take  a  danger  from  your  life." 

"How?" 

"  Do  you  not  think,  my  brother,"  she  answers,  her 
eyes  full  of  apprehension,  "that  the  man  who  placed 
your  life  in  jeopardy  on  the  Rhine,  to  get  these  estates, 
will  not  place  it  in  danger  in  Paris — will  not  do  any 
thing  his  brilliant  yet  ignoble  mind  suggests,  to  pre 
vent  that  wedding  by  any  means,  fair  or  foul,  and  in 
his  power  ?  May  not  he  work  upon  Lenoir,  that  cruel 
duelist?" 

"Of  that  I  must  take  my  chances  as  other  men." 

"  But  he  is  so  fatal — only  yesterday  morning  his  skill 
murdered  young  De  Provens!  " 

"Don't  let  that  trouble  you,  dear  Mimi,"  replies 
D'Arnac  shortly,  "  I  have  defended  my  life  before — I 
can  do  so  again."  Then,  as  if  anxious  to  dispel  the 
affair  from  his  mind,  he  suggests  lightly:  "And  now 
give  me  the  note  from  little  Quinault!" 

"  Here,  take  it,"  replies  Mimi,  and  hands  him  a 
letter;  then,  as  if  terrified  as  to  being  consulted  in  re 
gard  to  its  contents,  she  falters:  "  The  excitement  of 
to-day — your  return,  and  the  danger  I  feared  was  on 
you,  have  been  too  much  for  a  woman's  nerves.  Good 
bye  for  this  evening." 

So  the  sister  leaves  the  brother  engaged  in  opening  a 
peculiar  epistle,  which  reads  as  follows: 

MON  SEIGNEUR: 
A  bird  has  whispered  in  my  ear  that  you  are  now  Lieutenant- 


THE   KING'S   STOCKBROKER.  51 

Colonel  of  the  Musquetaires  Noirs,  and  in  Paris. 

At  this  I  should  be  frightened  were  I  not  so  anxious  to  see 
you,  for  Mimi,  your  sister,  tells  me  I  am  very  naughty — 
because — guess  why? 

No,  I  think  I'll  postpone  my  confession  till  I  see  my  guardian 
general.     Oo — oh!  won't  you   utter  very  wise  words  when  you 
hear  of  the  affair  !     I  am  trembling,  though  still 
Your  obedient  ward  and  vassal, 

JEANNE  FRA^OISE  QUINAULT, 
SOCIETAIRE  Comedie  Fran^aise. 

P.  S. — It  is  not  an  actor  this  time,  so  you  needn't  frown  and 
tear  your  hair.  I  have  underlined  Societaire  three  times,  to 
inform  you  I  have  been  elected  once,  which  is  very  good,  I 
think,  for  precocious  nineteen.  Old  Gabriel,  who  is  pension- 
naire,  though  she  is  seventy,  wept  when  she  heard  of  my  good 
fortune.  JEANNE. 

N.  B. — I  would  make  this  longer,  but  I  am  going  to  the  last 
rehearsal  of  "  Jaloux  Desabuse,"  in  which  I  hope  to  make  you 
laugh  to-night.  For,  of  course,  you  will  come  and  see  me  this 
evening  at  the  theatre.  Afterwards  you  know  I  have  a. petit 
salon.  J.  F.  Q. 

Au  revoir. 

"  It  is  not  an  actor,"  remarks  D'Arnac  to  himself, 
very  savagely,  chewing  his  moustache.  "  Diable  !  Is 
it  some  one  worse  ?  "  and  strides  rapidly  to  the  theatres 
in  his  heart  the  feelings  of  the  dog  who  won't  eat  the 
bone  himself  and  won't  let  other  dogs  eat  it  either. 

In  this  very  comfortable  state  of  mind  Monsieur 
d'Arnac  pays  his  money  and  forces  his  way  into  the 
Theatre  Franfais,  but  does  not  see  much  of  the  per 
formance. 

He  is  hardly  aware  whether  it  is  comedy  or  tragedy. 
All  he  knows  is  that  there  is  a  beautiful  creature  on  the 
stage,  even  more  lovely  than  the  one  he  left  in 
Paris  a  year  ago;  that  her  graceful  figure  is  a  little 
more  rounded  in  the  curves  of  beauty — and  her  eyes  are 
even  brighter,  for  there  is  a  wondrous  expectancy  in 
them — and  her  laugh  is  perchance  merrier — and  her 
ideality  and  sentiment  more  exquisite  than  even  when 
last  he  saw  dear  little  Quinault  on  the  boards. 

But  from  around  him  float  to  his  ear  remarks  that 
make  D'Arnac  want  to  fight  and  slay;  though  after  a 
little  he  changes  his  mind  about  this,  as  he  can't  fight 
and  slay  nearly  half  the  people  about  him. 

"Isn't  she  exquisite,"  says  a  beautiful  comtesse  to 
another  lady  sitting  beside  her.  "  How  some  one  must 
love  her!  " 


52  THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER. 

"  I  should  think  so,"  returns  this  lady's  companion, 
a  vivacious  lady-in-waiting  at  the  Court.  "  He  adores 
her." 

Then  she  whispers  into  the  ear  of  the  Comtesse,  at 
which  the  other  gives  a  startled  cry  and  says:  "  Mon 
Dieu !  do  you  really  mean  it  ?  What  a  happy  fellow!  " 

At  which  Raymond  grinds  his  teeth,  and  would  give 
his  head  to  know  the  happy  fellow's  name,  so  that  he 
could  make  him  unhappy. 

A  little  later  the  conversation  of  an  old  gallant  and  a 
younger  beau  reaches  him  from  his  right: 

"  Mon  Die^t!"  says  the  juvenile,  "  Quinault  will  put 
one  or  two  more  on  her  list  to-night.  Doesn't  she 
enjoy  making  them  love  her  and  rejecting  them  ?  Poor 
De  Sartimes  even  now  smiles  sadly,  though  he  was 
stabbed  six  months  ago." 

*l  Parbleu!  have  you  not  heard  the  bon  mot  she  gave 
him  ?  He  told  her  he  loved  her,  and  she  said  (for  she 
is  a  quaint  little  diablesse  and  always  assumes  that  she 
inspires  the  love  of  the  church,  not  the  love  of  the 
theatre):  '  Monsieur  de  Sartimes,  I  shall  only  wed  in 
my  own  rank.  I  will  try  to  become  your  wife  if  you 
will  try  to  become  an  actor.'" 

" Morbleu !  this  to  a  son  of  the  old  marquis!  "  mut 
ters  the  other.  "  She  will  soon  be  suggesting  to 
Monsieur  d'Orleans  that  he  aspire  to  the  crown  of 
Moliere. " 

"And  then  have  you  heard  about  De  Guiche  ? " 
chuckles  the  younger  dandy. 

"Only  that  he  adores  her." 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  she  said  to  his  suit? 
'Please  repeat  your  offer  to  my  guardian,  Monsieur  le 
Comte  d'Arnac.  If  he  desires  me,  I  am  an  obedient 
ward,  and  will  sign  the  marriage  contract! ' ' 

"  Diable  !  Did  she  expect  a  marriage  love — , "  cries 
the  other,  "  from  the  son  of  the  Due  de  Guiche,  one  of 
the  grandees  of  France — an  actress — oh,  ho!  he!  he! 
to  what  villain  ideas  are  we  coming  ?  " 

These  remarks  drive  Raymond  away  from  the  theatre 
to  the  Cafe"  Procope  opposite;  he  fears  he  will  suddenly 
wring  somebody's  nose,  or  slap  somebody's  face; 
though  these  speeches  are  made  utterly  unconscious  of 
his  presence,  as  he  has  been  away  from  Paris  for  over  a 


THE    KING  S    STOCKBROKER.  53 

year,  and  his  appearance  is  quite  unknown  to  most  of 
the  gallants  of  the  town. 

Sitting  down  at  one  of  the  tables,  D'Arnac  tries  to 
bring  common  sense  to  bear  upon  the  matter,  and 
reflects  that  any  action  he  may  take  would  only  bring 
his  protegee's  name  more  prominently  upon  the  lips  of 
men  and  women.  He  has  heard  every  actress  on  the 
Parisian  stage  spoken  about  something  after  the  same 
manner,  and  has  never  thought  until  now  it  is  anything 
but  the  regulation  thing;  though  Mademoiselle  Jeanne's 
charms  being  greater,  the  gossip  about  her  is  probably 
more  pronounced  than  that  in  regard  to  less  attractive 
goddesses  of  the  stage. 

Even  as  the  young  man  cogitates,  disquieting  words 
come  to  him,  as  the  cafe  is  full  of  people  chatting  and 
laughing,  it  being  an  entr'acte. 

A  gentleman  sitting  at  the  table  next  to  him  remarks 
to  another:  "  They  say  little  Quinault  carries  on  her 
role  of  comedienne  off  the  stage.  That  a  certain  young 
literary  quill  named  Arouet,who  is  ashamed  of  his  name 
since  he  returned  from  the  Bastille  for  writing  scandal 
ous  verses  about  our  last  King,  and  has  adopted  the 
nom  de  plume  of  Voltaire,  invents  brilliant  lines  for  her, 
which  she  recites  to  her  various  adorers,  with  admirable 
but  most  cutting  sarcasm.  You  know,  of  course, 
about  Lenoir  ?  " 

"  No,"  says  the  other,  "what  was  it  ?  " 
-  "Well,  Lenoir,  who  has  become  one  of  the  moths, 
burning  their  wings  at  the  candle  of  little  Quinault, 
hinted  to  her  a  few  days  ago  that  he  loved  her,  and 
she  replied :  '  Monsieur  Lenoir,  I  have  had  already 
twenty  chances  to  change  my  name  to  one  beginning 
with  "  de. "  When  you  have  succeeded  in  acquiring  the 
prefix  of  nobility  perchance  I  may  consider  your  appli 
cation.  '  At  this  Lenoir,  who  is  of  Spanish  birth,  though 
I  believe  of  good  family,  gnashing  his  teeth  fled  before 
the  witty  actress." 

As  the  two  get  up  and  leave  their  table,  Raymond 
looking  after  them  meditates:  "This  is  what  Mimi 
referred  to,"  and  grows  very  savage  not  only  with 
Lenoir  and  all  the  other  gentlemen  pursuing  her,  but  also 
with  his  protegee,  and  makes  up  his  mind  to  be  very  stern 
and  severe  with  that  young  lady  at  the  first  opportunity. 


54  THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER. 

He  soon  finds  the  pretext  he  is  seeking. 

This  comes  from  the  old  actor  Baron,  who  strides 
into  the  cafe  and,  recognizing  Raymond,  takes  off  his 
hat  and  makes  his  politest  and  lowest  bow,  congratulat 
ing  him  upon  his  promotion  and  honor;  then  remarks: 
"I  am  glad  that  your  new  rank  has  not  made  you 
forget  the  young  lady  for  whose  artistic  success  we 
have  both  done  so  much.  This  is  your  first  evening  in 
Paris;  I  presume  you  have  been  at  the  theatre." 

"Yes,  from  which  I  have  been  driven  by  the  remarks 
about  Jeanne's  numerous  adorers,"  returns  Raymond 
gloomily. 

"Ah,  doesn't  she  fascinate  every  one  ?  "  babbles  the 
actor.  "But  you  need  not  fear  the  courtiers,  my  boy. 
Pardieu  !  I  think  she  turns  a  pleasanter  eye  upon  the 
financiers." 

"Financiers!"  ejaculates  Raymond.  "  Not  stock 
brokers  ?  " 

"  One,  the  King's  Stockbroker." 

"Lass?" 

"  Yes,  the  one  who  makes  every  one  rich.  I  believe 
she  has  asked  him  to  make  speculation  for  her  on  the 
Rue  Quincampoix.  I  am  afraid  she  needs  the  money." 

"For  what?" 

"Oh,  the  expenses  of  an  actress.  She  has  a  petit 
salon  that  is  growing  very  fashionable  among  litterateurs 
— Monsieur  Voltaire — Monsieur  Campistron,  the  author 
of  the  piece  you  listened  to  this  evening — myself — and 
other  celebrities — ,"  replies  Baron  modestly.  "  This  is 
expensive.  I  am  afraid  Mademoiselle  Jeanne  has  been 
going  in  debt." 

"In  debt?"  cries  D'Arnac,  very  savagely,  but  very 
delightedly.  For  he  has  got  the  subject  upon  which  he 
can  lecture  Mademoiselle  Jeanne  for  all  her  other  faults 
under  the  head  of  "extravagance." 

And  Baron  leaving  him,  he  meditates  gloomily  upon 
this  till  the  theatre  is  over. 

So  the  greenroom  not  exactly  being  the  place  for 
his  guardian  effusions,  giving  the  young  lady  time  to 
arrive  at  her  handsome  apartments  on  the  Rue  de 
Conde",  Monsieur  d'Arnac  strides  toward  them  very 
full  of  his  stern  precepts  and  good  advice. 

He  mutters  to  himself  :     "Wait  till  she  hears  from 


THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER.  55 

me!"  and  seems  to  imagine  he  will  pose  in  his  role  of 
guardian  exceedingly  well,  but  does  not  know  he  is 
going  to  encounter  a  young  lady  who  has  grown  in  wit 
if  not  in  wisdom,  since  he  last  listened  to  her  charming 
voice. 

The  pretty  salon  of  Mademoiselle  Quinault,  brilliantly 
lighted  by  candelabra  filled  with  wax  tapers,  and 
adorned  very  admirably  in  regard  to  furniture,  delicate 
bric-a-brac  and  exquisite  but  expensive  trifles  of  art, 
looks  very  bright  this  evening. 

Beyond  is  a  little  dining-room,  in  which  a  gourmand 
supper  is  being  served,  with  ten  covers;  though  only 
nine  places  are  occupied,  that  at  the  head  of  the  board 
being  vacant. 

At  this  table  are  seated  several  of  the  celebrities  of 
Paris,  among  them  Monsieur  Francois  Marie  Arouet, 
who  is  just  becoming  noted  under  the  name  of  Voltaire, 
and  is  at  the  right  of  his  hostess,  indulging  a  very  good 
appetite. 

The  place  at  her  left  is  occupied  by  Campistron,  the 
author  of  the  play  of  the  night,  who  hates  and  envies 
the  rising  young  litterateur  opposite  him.  The  actor 
Baron  and  the  adolescent  Comte  de  Guiche,  who 
still  sighs  for  the  bright  eyes  of  the  young  lady  at 
the  foot  of  the  table,  make  up  the  gentlemen  of  the 
party. 

The  ladies  are  a  mixture  of  those  of  the  stage  and 
those  of  the  grand  monde.  Pretty  Mademoiselle  Seine 
of  the  franfais,  and  old  Desmares,  representing  the 
theatre.  The  old  and  literary  Madame  de  Caylor,  who 
is  the  duenna  who  watches  over  Jeanne,  does  les  con 
venances  for  the  party,  while  the  vivacious  Marquise 
de  Prie  gives  to  it  the  lustre  of  the  aristocracy. 

They  are  all  chatting  very  merrily  and  happily;  wit  is 
flowing  about  with  the  wine;  when  into  this  bright 
gathering,  like  a  bull  in  a  china  shop,  comes  Raymond 
le  Comte  d'Arnac,  full  of  righteous  indignation  against 
the  world  in  general,  and  one  or  two  of  the  gentlemen 
here  present  in  particular;  also  with  a  long  lecture  in 
his  mind  to  read  the  exquisite  lady  who  rises,  her  eyes 
beaming  with  happiness,  to  salute  him  as  he  is 
announced. 

Suddenly,  to  the  astonishment  of  all  the  guests  except 


56  THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER. 

old  Baron  and  her  duenna,  who  have  seen  her  per 
form  this  act  before,  Mademoiselle  Jeanne  makes 
obeisance  to  the  entering  general,  gorgeous  in  his  uni 
form  of  the  Musquetaires  Noirs,  and,  kissing  his  hand, 
murmurs:  "  Mon  Seigneur  !  "  as  she  did  in  the  old  days, 
before  she  had  floated  into  the  galaxy  of  fame. 

And  how  is  this  obeisance  greeted  ? 

Young  De  Guiche,  who  would  give  his  eyes  for  a 
similar  salutation,  stares  in  envy,  then  starts  in  astonish 
ment,  as  D'Arnac  after  uttering  the  usual  form  of  con 
ventional  greeting  to  the  lady  bending  before  him,  and 
being  introduced  to  those  of  the  guests  he  does  not 
know,  suddenly  catching  sight  of  the  vacant  chair  at 
the  head  of  the  table,  remarks  very  sternly:  "Jeanne, 
what  gentleman  do  you  place  at  the  head  of  your  board, 
as  if  he  had  a  right  there  ?  For  whom  was  that  place 
intended  ? " 

At  this,  little  Quinault,  who  has  gazed  at  him  for  one 
moment  with  disappointed,  and  perhaps  affrighted  eyes, 
suddenly  emits  a  little  snicker  and  says :  ' '  For  you,  man 
Seigneur  !"  favoring  him  with  mocking  courtesy. 

"  F-for  me  ?  "  stammers  Raymond  embarrassed. 

"Certainly!  I  had  expected  you  at  the  theatre! 
In  proof  that  this  place  was  intended  for  you  " — here 
she  gives  another  little  giggle,  in  which  two  or  three 
of  her  guests  join,  she  leads  D'Arnac  to  the  head 
of  the  table,  and  points  to  a  cake  fort  in  frosted  sugar, 
in  front  of  his  chair,  upon  which  is  placarded  in  Ted 
candy  letters:  "To  the  Hero  of  Friburg!  "  then 
laughs  mockingly,  "Fight  with  him  as  much  as  you 
like — only  please  postpone  it  until  after  you  have 
carried  him  away  from  the  feast!  Take  your  chair, 
hungry  general!" 

And  he  being  compelled  for  very  shame  to  take  instant 
occupation  of  it,  she  courtesies  to  him  again  and 
murmurs:  "  What  are  my  fierce  lord's  orders  ?  I  will  wait 
on  him  myself — he  would  be  savage  with  the  varlets 
this  evening." 

"  Pooh !  nonsense !  "  stammers  Raymond ;  for  the  rest 
of  the  party  are  grinning. 

"It  is  to  beauty  to  attend  on  valor  !"  ejaculates 
Baron  pompously,  quoting  from  an  old  play. 

Upon    this,    noting    D'Arnac's    manner,     Monsieur 


THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER.  57 

Voltaire  suddenly  sneers:     "  Are  young  generals  always 
savage  ? " 

"Of  course,"  answers  Raymond,  grinding  his  teeth. 
"  It  is  our  business,  as  it  is  with  you  gentlemen  of  the 
pen  to  be  always  witty — though  sometimes  neither  of  us 
succeed! " 

The  laugh  that  greets  this  (for  people  are  generally 
more  ready  to  applaud  at  the  bon  mots  of  the  man  of 
rank  than  the  good  things  of  the  aspiring  knight  of  the 
plume),  making  D'Arnac  think  himself  very  witty, 
brings  good  humor  to  him. 

So  he  settles  down  between  vivacious  Madame 
de  Prie  and  pretty  Mademoiselle  Seine,  and 
enjoys  a  very  pleasant  little  supper.  Jeanne,  her  face 
covered  with  happiness,  sitting  at  the  foot  of  the  table, 
and  playing  the  fairy  of  the  feast,  with  her  bright 
eyes,  facile  tongue,  brilliant  intellect,  and  exquisite 
spirit. 

She  is  dressed — heaven  and  her  modiste  only  know 
how!  But  her  toilet  has  in  it  effects  that  make  her 
beauty  as  vivacious,  sparkling,  and  intoxicating  to  the 
senses  of  man  as  the  champagne  that  froths  in  her 
glass  as  she  proposes  the  health  "of  the  hero  of 
Friburg  !  " 

So  much  so  that  it  appeals  even  to  her  own  sex.  De 
Prie  whispers  enthusiastically  to  Raymond:  "  She's  as 
lovely  as  De  Sabran  herself  !  "  then  cries  out,  perhaps 
a  little  maliciously:  "  You  are  very  fortunate,  Monsieur 
d'Arnac — BOTH  ? "  and  smiles  the  smile  of  one  who 
could  say  more,  but  does  not  dare  for  prudence  sake. 

"Both?"  laughs  Jeanne,  who  overhears  only  the 
last — "both  what?" 

"Both  ladies,  of  course,"  remarks  Voltaire.  "Who 
but  your  sex,  Mademoiselle  Quinault,  make  the  fortune 
of  man — good  or  evil  ?  " 

"Since  you  are  all  guessing,"  replies  De  Prie, 
between  sips  of  her  champagne,  "  I  make  my  remark  a 
riddle!  A  prize  to  the  one  who  solves  it!  General 
d'Arnac  of  course  barred,  for  he,  I  imagine,  knows." 

"Very  well,"  says  De  Guiche,  who  has  been  looking 
on  Raymond  with  jealous  eyes,  and  hopes  perchance  to 
do  a  bad  turn  to  this  very  much  favored  gentleman's 
affairs  of  the  heart.  "I  will  have  my  trial  for  Madame 


58  THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER. 

de  Prie's  rebus.  By  '  both  '  she  refers  to  the  lovely  De 
Sabran  and  our  charming  young  hostess.  By  'fortu 
nate  '  she  means  that  Monsieur  le  General,  at  the/ete  of 
the  Island  Pomegue,  was  the  favored  gallant  of  the 
beautiful  Hilda;  while  here  he  is  the  honored  guardian 
and  mentor  of  the  exquisite  Quinault,  to  whom  we  all 
fill  our  glasses  with  champagne,  and  our  hearts  with 


He  looks  the  rest  at  the  young  lady  he  toasts,  who, 
as  De  Guiche  speaks,  grows  for  one  second  very  white 
and  pale,  even  to  her  ivory  shoulders,  and  then  be 
comes  blushing  as  the  rose. 

"Couloir  au  natural!"  laughs  Monsieur  Voltaire, 
gazing  at  her  flashing  blue  eyes  and  changing  emo 
tions. 

"The  prize  is  yours,  my  astute  Comte  ! "  cries  la 
Marquise,  at  which  Mademoiselle  Quinault  grows  pale 
once  more. 

As  for  Raymond,  he  can't  be  quite  sure  whether  it 
is  De  Guiche's  ardent  glances  or  malicious  information 
that  causes  Jeanne's  blushes  and  embarrassment. 
Whichever  it  is  he  hates  him  for  it. 

Then,  struggling  to  play  the  courtier,  he  says, 
squeezing  out  a  laugh:  "If  Madame  de  Prie 
meant  all  you  say,  Comte,  she  must  indeed  have 
thought  me  fortunate.  But  at  present  my  happiness 
depends  on  only  one  of  the  ladies  !  "  And  he  gives  the 
blushing  Quinault  a  glance  that  makes  her  grow  won- 
drously  joyous  for  the  moment. 

"Of  course,"  sneers  Voltaire,  "that  refers  to  the 
nearest  charmer.  Perchance  you  made  on  the  Island 
Pomegue  the  same  remark  to  the  other  !  " 

This  puts  the  dagger  into  little  Quinault  again  ; 
whereupon,  seeing  its  effect  (for  this  great  writer  is  a 
man  of  immense  brain  but  little  soul),  he  adds  :  "  Your 
honeyed  words,  General  d'Arnac,  must  have  had  an 
effect  on  la  Sabran  also.  I  saw  her  carriage  in  front  of 
the  barracks  on  the  Charenton  road  to-day  as  you  first 
paraded  Les  Musquctaires  Noirs!"  thus  turning  the 
knife  in  poor  Jeanne's  gaping  wound. 

But  this  young  lady  has  a  soul  that  conquers  any  ex 
hibitions  of  anguish  to  delight  her  tormentor.  She 
cries:  "Of  course,  Monsieur  Voltaire.  All  women 


THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER.  59 

adore  heroes.  Why  not  the  hero  of  Friburg  ?  Is  he 
so  poor  a  hero  that  he  has  but  one  heroine  ?  Naturally, 
I  appreciate  Madame  De  Sabran's  emotions  !  " 

Then  she  forces  a  stage  laugh  that  has  the  merry 
ring  of  spontaneity,  though  she  feels  very  surly  towards 
her  guardian,  and  intends  to  show  it  on  convenient 
opportunity,  which  comes  quite  shortly. 

As  they  rise  from  the  supper  table,  perceiving  De 
Guiche  has  hardly  found  favor  in  Raymond's  eyes,  his 
rebellious  ward  inveigles  the  young  Comte  into  a  tete-a- 
tete,  and  in  this  young  gentleman's  attentions  becomes 
curiously  oblivious  to  every  one  else  in  the  room,  not 
even  noticing  the  hero  of  Friburg,  although  he  has  on 
his  new  and  gorgeous  uniform  and  commanding  airs 
as  lieutenant-general. 

Under  the  apparent  spell  of  De  Guiche's  insipid 
compliments  she  seems  to  go  into  a  trance,  vouchsaf 
ing  to  Raymond's  brightest  speeches  only  monosyl 
lables,  and  devoting  her  shell-like  ears,  tripping  tongue 
and  brilliant  eyes  to  placing  her  tete-a-tete  in  paradise. 

From  his  ward's  inattention,  Monsieur  d'  Arnac  turns 
ferociously  to  Mademoiselle  Jeanne's  duenna,  Madame 
de  Caylor,  who,  being  generally  deserted  on  account  of 
her  many  years  and  few  charms,  welcomes  the  gentle 
man  to  her  side  with  much  effusion  as  regards  both 
gratitude  and  interest. 

It  is  to  his  sister  she  owes  her  present  position  as 
chaperon  of  the  young  actress,  which  is  an  easy  one. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  is 'Raymond  who  pays  her  salary. 

But  D'Arnac's  address  does  not  give  this  old  hanger- 
on  of  the  court  of  France  and  ancient  dabbler  in  poetry 
any  great  comfort  this  evening. 

He  remarks  gloomily  to  her;  "  My  dear  Madame  de 
Caylor,  you,  I  fear,  are  too  handsome  !  " 

"Oh,  General!" 

"  Yes,  I  fear  you  are  too  beautiful  to  make  your 
position  effective.  I  told  Madame  de  Chateaubrien 
that  when  she  requested  you  to  accept  the  post.  You 
are  not  dragon  enough  !  " 

"  Oh,  I'll  be  anything  you  wish,"  replies  Madame  de 
Caylor,  anxiously.  Then  she  throws  poetic  eyes  about, 
and  languishes  them  on  Raymond,  murmuring :  ' '  Whom 
shall  I  sting  ?" 


60  THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER. 

"You  see  Monsieur  Popinjay  talking  to  Miss  Butter 
fly?" 

"Y-e-s!" 

"  Do  you  always  remain  in  the  salon  when  he  favors 
this  establishment  with  a  call  ?  " 

"Unless  I  have  some  other  duties." 

"Very  well.  I  hope  you  will  have  no  other  duties 
when  De  Guiche  calls.  Devote  yourself  entirely  to 
him." 

"And  when  any  other  of  the  young  courtiers  call  ? " 

"The  same.  Make  them  all  think  they  are  visit 
ing  Madame  de  Caylor  and  not  Mademoiselle  Quin- 
ault,"  adds  Raymond,  savagely,  thinking  that  will  curb 
their  coming  if  anything  will. 

"  Ah,  I  understand,"  remarks  the  Baroness.  And 
D'Arnac  leaving  her,  she  decides  to  be  a  very  faithful 
dragon,  because  the  dragon's  quarters  are  very  pleas 
ant,  and  the  dragon's  remuneration  is  liberal. 

Mademoiselle  Jeanne,  whose  bright  eyes  have 
observed  Raymond's  conversation  with  her  duenna, 
imagines  that  he  has  been  pumping  Madame  de  Caylor 
on  the  subject  of  her  epistle. 

Chancing  to  be  near  him,  as  the  guests  are  rising  to 
go,  she  whispers:  "You  received  my  note?" 

"Yes,"  replies  D'Arnac,  "and  brought  my  lecture." 
Then  he  says  moodily  turning  evil  eyes  on  the  young 
Comte  de  Guiche,  "is  that  your  confession?  It  was 
not  an  actor  this  time,  I  believe.  " 

This  remark  seems  to  give  la  Quinault,  for  some 
unaccountable  reason,  inexplicable  yet  decided  joy. 

She  gasps:  "Why,  you  are "  then  checks 

herself,  for  Raymond  is  bursting  out  again,  and 
whispers:  "  Don't  scold  me  before  them  all;  I  shall  feel 
like  a  baby!  Wait  till  they  go,  then  play  the  wise 
and  experienced  guardian,  Mon  Seigneur,  and  I  will 
perform  as  the  naughty  ward  and  disobedient  vas 
sal." 

And  her  joyous  vivacity  would  disarm  any  one  but 
this  young  gentleman,  who,  however,  contrives  to  bridle 
his  temper,  and  daudles  about  the  room  with  a  rather 
surly  air  until  the  other  guests  have  taken  their  leave, 
and  he  finds  himself  facing  Mademoiselle  Quinault  and 
her  duenna. 


THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER.  6l 

"  Now  sit  down,  guardy,  and  lecture  me!  "  remarks 
Jeanne,  giving  him  a  happy  smile.  "Put  your  gloomy 
face  into  words.  " 

On  this  Madame  de  Caylor  rises  and  says:  "  I  shall 
leave  you  now,  with  your  permission,  Monsieur  le 
General,  as  I  presume  you  have  some  private  communi 
cation  to  make  to  your  ward." 

And  this  lady  departing,  D'Arnac  would  open  his 
batteries  upon  the  young  lady  standing  before  him  in 
exquisite  beauty  and  mocking  grace,  did  she  not  fire  off 
his  cannon  for  him. 

She  says  airily:  "You  look  at  me  as  if  I  were  a 
culprit.  Why  ?  " 

"Why?  You  yourself  know.  Your  letter  confessed 
a  fault." 

"Oh,  I  only  wrote  that  to  tease  you, "  giggles  Made 
moiselle.  "True,  Mimi  did  say  I  was  naughty — but 
she  has  said  that  so  many  times." 

"With  reason,  I  presume,"  remarks  Raymond 
severely. 

"Sometimes.  But  this  time  it  was  only  because  I 
said  a  few  saucy  words  to  a  gentleman  I  do  not  approve, 
Monsieur  Lenoir.  She  feared  they  would  make  him 
feel  revengeful  towards  me.  But  I  have  lots  of 
enemies,"  continues  the  young  lady,  nonchalantly; 
"half  the  actresses  in  the  theatre  detest  me,  and  most 
of  the  critics  have  dipped  their  pens  in  my  blood." 

"Humph!  I  had  presumed  it  was  the  Comte  de 
Guiche  to  whom  you  referred." 

"  Oh!  I  have  no  further  interest  in  poor  De  Guiche," 
cries  Jeanne  merrily.  "  His  affair  was  six  months  ago. 
He  has  not  succeeded  in  becoming  an  actor." 

"Ah,  ha!     You  have  had  other  admirers  since?  " 

"  Lots  of  them.  But  the  list  is  a  long  one  and  might 
fatigue  you.  I  will  give  you  samples!"  laughs  Made 
moiselle  Quinault.  "Monsieur  Voltaire,  who  writes 
sonnets  to  me.  Monsieur  Baron,  who  says  he  made 
my  fame.  Marechal  de  Villars,  who  kisses  my  cheek 
whenever  he  meets  me,  and  murmurs  '  pride  of  the 
army  '  and  '  good  little  girl '  (which  is  more  than  you 
have  ever  said  about  me) ;  Monsieur  de  Sartimes,  who, 
I  am  informed,  is  still  very  unhappy  about  me; 
Le  Comte  de  Horn,  who  looks  so  pale  and  interesting." 


62  THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER. 

"Le  Comte  de  Horn?  Diable\  You  permit  the 
admiration  of  such  as  he  ?  "  mutters  D'Arnac  aghast, 
for  Jeanne  has  named  the  most  reckless  rout  of  the  day. 

' '  Why,  he  has  the  royal  blood  of  the  Netherlands  in  his 
veins.  He  is  slightly  related  to  the  Regent." 

"But  the  most  dissipated  and  wicked  speculator 
on  the  street,  and  the  most  unfortunate,  I  am 
told.  Speaking  of  this,  I  am  reminded,"  continues 
Raymond,  "  that  you  are  extravagant — that  you  are  in 
debt!" 

"Was  in  debt,  my  guardian  general!"  corrects  the 
young  lady,  lightly. 

"You — you  don't  mean  to  say  that  your  profits  as 
societaire  have  paid  for  this  luxury  ?  "  queries  D'Arnac, 
gazing  astounded  about  the  apartment,  which  is  a 
marvel  of  expensive  good  taste. 

"  Of  course  not!  That  is  the  Rue  Quincampoix  and 
Monsieur  Lass,  who  has  been  very  kind  to  me!" 
returns  Mademoiselle  Quinault.  "Debt  is  a  thing  of 
the  past  with  me." 

"Ah,  ha!     Speculating!  " 

"And  why  shouldn't  I?"  cries  Mademoiselle,  defi 
antly.  "  Hasn't  the  Regent  made  public  edict  that  no 
noble  will  lose  his  rank  by  buying  stocks — don't  the 
princesses  of  the  blood  beg  Lass  for  shares — why  should 
not  I  have  my  fling  also  ?  I've  got  a  thousand  shares  of 
the  old  India  stock — the  ORIGINAL  stock — 'the  mother'— 
and  that  has  given  me  the  right  to  buy  two  hundred  and 
fifty  of  the  second  issue,  '  the  daughters! '  I  got  them 
through  the  kindness  of  Monsieur  Lass.  Lanty  took 
my  order  and  fought  his  way  through  the  crowd — and  I 
stood  looking  at  him  outside.  People  were  crushed 
half  to  death!  It  was  so  terrible — so  exciting!  Every 
'  daughter '  is  worth  seven  hundred  livres  now  per 
share.  They  say  they  are  going  to  be  worth  one 
thousand — perhaps  two  thousand — perhaps  three  thou 
sand — perhaps  more !  The  more  '  mothers  '  you  have — 
the  more  '  daughters  '  you  can  get — lind  soon  they  are 
going  to  issue  the  '  grand-daughters ' — and  the  more 
'  daughters  '  you  have  the  more  'grand-daughters  '  you 
can  get.  Monsieur  Voltaire  says  I'm  not  only  getting 
rich,  but  a  family,"  chirps  the  young  lady,  blushing  a 
little  at  the  joke.  Then  she  cries  enthusiastically: 


THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER,  63 

"Oh!  It  pays  to  be  the  pet  actress  of  the  Parisian 
stage!" 

"Too  well! "  cries  D'Arnac,  savagely,  for  the  richer 
she  gets,  the  less  he  thinks  she  will  be  indebted  to  him; 
and  casting  angry  eyes  about  they  light  upon  the 
magnificent  diamonds  gleaming  upon  Mademoiselle 
Naughty's  fair  neck  and  arms,  and  he  mutters  viciously: 
"Did  you  buy  those  from  the  profits  of  your  stock 
speculations  ? " 

"What — sell  a  share  of  my  stock  NOW  ?"  cries  the 
little  speculator.  "Never!  It's  going  to  be  worth 
ten  times  its  present  value.  I  have  had  private  infor 
mation  from  Monseigneur  Lass." 

"Then  who  gave  you  that  diamond  necklace  ?  "  cries 
D'Arnac,  his  voice  as  stern  and  his  eye  as  severe  as 
looking  at  a  mutineer. 

At  this  aspect  of  her  guardian,  Jeanne  suddenly 
emits  a  suppressed  snicker;  next  assuming  a  childish 
pout,  commences  to  devour  the  little  lace  handkerchief 
she  has  in  her  hands,  and  mutters:  "I — I  shan't  tell 
you ! " 

"You  must!" 

"I — I  wont!"  and  Miss  Defiant  stamps  indignant 
slipper. 

"You  shall — he  shall  answer  to  me!  "  And  D'Arnac, 
taking  Mademoiselle  Rebel  sternly  by  both  her  pretty 
shoulders,  holds  her  so  her  blue  eyes  look  into  his,  and 
says:  "  His  name!  " 

At  this  she  gives  a  shriek  of  laughter  right  into  his 
savage  eyes,  and  cries:  "  Mimi!  "  then  gives  forth  two 
alluiing,  mocking  giggles. 

"  My  sister  ?  "  stammers  Raymond,  growing  confused 
and  overcome. 

But  the  laugh  goes  out  of  Jeanne's  eyes,  and  fire 
flames  in  them,  and  turning  on  him  she  whispers,  with 
white  lips:  "Who  do  you  think  gave  it  to  me  ?  My 
Heaven  ! — you  thought  !  What  did  you  think  of  me — 
what?  Answer!  It  is  I  that  command  now  !"  And 
the  comedienne  has  changed  into  a  tragedienne  of  wild 
eyes  and  terrible  mien,  and  cries  :  "Answer  !  What 
did  you  DARE  to  think  !  " 

"  I 1  merely  demanded  what,  as  your  guar 
dian,  I  have  a  right  to  know  !  "  stammers  D'Arnac, 


64  THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER. 

forcing  himself  to  calmness.  "The  greater  your  popu 
larity — the  more  I  have  a  right  to  inquire  !  The 
greater  the  number  of  your  admirers,  the  richer  they 
are,  the  higher  rank  they  have — the  more  it  is  my  duty 
to  ask  !  You  are  not  twenty  yet — for  five  years  more, 
according  to  the  law  of  France,  I,  as  your  guardian, 
have  the  right  to  direct  you  and  the  power  to  require 
you  to  answer  my  questions." 

"  That  was  before  I  became  a  soeietaire  of  the  Fran- 
cais,"  replies  Jeanne,  with  haughty  voice.  "When  I 
became  that  I  became  dedicated  by  the  law  of  France 
to  the  public." 

"The  public  will  doubtless  be  a  more  agreeable 
guardian  to  you  than  I  am — it  will  not  ask  so  many 
questions,"  sneers  D'Arnac.  Then  he  mutters  in  a 
choked  voice,  for  she  has  wounded  him  greatly:  "  I — 
I  believe  you  are  right.  Even  a  ballet  girl  placing  her 
foot  on  the  boards  at  the  Opera  becomes  the  ward  of  the 
state.  I — I  shall  trouble  you  with  my  authority  no 
more.  If  you  need  a  guardian  for  any  legal  purposes 
connected  with  your  property,  I — I  have  no  doubt  Mon 
sieur  de  Villars  will  be  pleased  to  act  for  you  !  Permit 
me  to  take  my  leave!"  and  he  makes  her  the  bow  of 
adieu ;  though  with  a  heavy  heart,  for  it  is  not  a  pleas 
ant  thing  to  relinquish  the  control  of  a  being  whose 
spirit  and  beauty  have  conquered  the  world. 

And  with  this  he  wins  his  battle. 

For  as  he  turns  to  go — in  fact  is  half-way  to  the 
door — a  pair  of  pretty,  but  desperate,  hands  seize 
upon  him,  and  teary  blue  eyes  are  gazing  piteously  into 
his,  and  a  pathetic  voice  is  crying  wildly  to  him: 
"  Don't  go!  I  said  it  released  me  from  your  guardian 
ship,  but  I  didn't  say  it  absolved  me  from  my  oath  of 
vassalage  to  you — one  I  took  on  the  cross  when  I  was  a 
child.  Don't  go! — I'll  get  you  my  bank  stock — sell  it 
— throw  it  away — do  anything — don't  go!  You  shall 
scold  me  as  much  as  you  please.  You  shall  be  as  cross 
with  me  as  you  like — don't  go!  You  shall  read  the  love 
letters  that  are  written  to  me — don't  go!  You  shall 
lock  me  up  in  a  convent — don't  go !  Come — lecture  me 
as  much  as  you  like — be  as  angry  with  me  as  you  like — 
punish  me  if  I  deserve  it — only,  guardy — don't  go  ! 
Mon  Seigneur — DON'T  GO  !  " 


THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER.  65 

And  she  kisses  his  hand,  and  gives  him  the  obeisance 
she  has  been  accustomed  to  since  the  night  he  saved 
her  in  the  street  fight  at  Friburg. 

Under  such  entreaties,  from  such  a  ward,  what  guar 
dian  could  refuse  her  charge  ? 

Then  she  murmurs:  "  I — I  don't  think  you — you  had 
better  scold  me  this  evening — I'm  crying  now.  Keep 
that  till  to-morrow — come  at  two  and  you'll  find  an  obe 
dient  vassal.  But  you're — you're  not  angry  now,  are  you, 
general  guardian — you're  not  savage  now  with  your 
little  Jeanne,  are  you,  Man  Seigneur  ?  "  and  sends  Mon 
sieur  Raymond  d'Arnac  away  from  her  very  proud  of  his 
conquest  over  his  rebel  ward. 

For  as  he  strides  away  the  lieutenant-general  has  the 
prgud  bearing  of  a  marechal  of  France,  and  says  to  him 
self,  very  contentedly :  "Pardi!  what  a  victory  !  but 
I  brought  the  audacious  chit  to  terms — in  short  order!  " 

But  it  is  a  victory  that  has  the  elements  of  danger  and 
defeat  to  the  conqueror  as  well  as  the  vanquished. 

In  fact,  the  vanquished  goes  tripping  to  her  chamber 
and  smiles  at  her  own  fair  reflection  in  the  glass  and 
shakes  a  playful  finger  at  her  piquant  self  and  laughs 
through  her  tears.  "  Is  he — is  he  jealous  of  me  ?  Oh, 
you  naughty  little  Quinault!  " 


CHAPTER  VI. 

PARIS    THE    BUCKET-SHOP    OF    THE    WORLD. 

SELF-GLORIFICATION  has  not  left  D'Arnac  the  next 
morning;  he  comes  down  to  meet  his  sister  at  break 
fast,  very  much  pleased  with  himself,  and  therefore 
very  much  pleased  with  everybody  else. 

Noting  this,  Madame  la  Marquise  remarks  :  "A 
pleasant  supper  last  evening,  I  imagine  ?  " 

"The  supper  was  well  enough,"  replies  Raymond 
nonchalantly ;  "  Jeanne  was  as  spirituelle  and  sprightly  as 

a  fairy,  but ,"  here  Raymond  meditatively  attacks  a 

cutlet  with  knife  and  fork. 

"Well— but?" 

"  She  likes  to  be  too  popular  and  too  rich." 

"Both   very   natural,"    answers    Mimi    laughingly. 


66  THE  KING'S  STOCKBROKER. 

"She  would  not  be  a  success  on  the  stage  were  she 
not  the  first,  and  she  could  not  gratify  her  artistic 
ideas  were  she  not  the  second." 

"Oh,  I  don't  object  to  admiration  across  the  foot 
lights, "  says  Raymond,  giving  his  cutlet  a  more  savage 
stab,  "it's  the  generality  of  the  attentions  she  per 
mits — everything  is  fish  that  comes  to  her  net,  from 
the  son  of  a  duke  to  a  jobbing  stockbroker." 

"Oh,  Monseigneur  Lass;  Jeanne  simply  bows 
to  his  financial  greatness,  as  nearly  every  one  in 
France  does — countesses,  duchesses  and  princesses  be 
seeching  him  for  shares,"  remarks  Mimi  airily. 

"Then  I  shall  stop  Mademoiselle  Jeanne,"  cries 
D'Arnac  determinedly. 

"Then  you'll  have  a  very  pretty  battle  on  your 
hands,  men  general/"  laughs  his  sister. 

"  Sapristi !  one  I  have  already  conquered,"  laughs 
Raymond.  "In  ten  minutes  I  routed  Miss  Rebel, 
horse,  foot  and  dragoons,  and,  voila  !  the  triumphant 
guardian." 

This  success  alarms  his  sister.  She  opens  a  subject 
that  has  been  upon  her  mind  the  evening  before.  Af 
fecting  a  laugh,  she  suggests  :  "  Don't  you  think  you 
are  rather  juvenile  to  play  the  guardian  to  such  a 
charming  young  lady  ?  " 

"  Diable  !  I  was  younger  when  I  undertook  the  task 
by  six  years,"  replies  D'Arnac  confidently.  "And  I 
think  I  have  made  very  good  work  of  it." 

"  Ah,  yes,  but  she  is  older"  dissents  Madame  de 
Chateaubrien. 

Whereupon  her  brother  gets  very  red  in  the  face, 
and  a  curious  gleam  comes  into  his  eyes  that  gives  his 
sister  a  shiver. 

But  this  also  makes  her  more  determined  to  press  a 
project  she  has  reflected  on  overnight.  She  says  sug 
gestively  :  "Don't  you  think  that  you  ought  to 
visit  your  fiancee  ?  Melun  is  not  so  very  distant  from 
Paris." 

Her  brother's  answer  astounds  her.  "Oh,  that 
chit  !  "  he  replies  as  if  the  thought  was  not  entirely  a 
pleasant  one,  "  I  can  visit  her  in  a  month  or  so  !  There 
is  plenty  of  time.  I  suppose  Julie  has  grown  into 
quite  a  slip  of  a  girl  by  this  time."  Next  he  says  con- 


THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER.  67 

templatively,  "  I  wonder  what  she  lo.oks  like.  She  was 
ugly  at  ten." 

"  She  is  beautiful  at  seventeen,"  Mimi  cries  enthusi 
astically,  "  and  very  anxious  to  get  out  of  a  convent." 

"  Of  course,  anxious  to  get  from  under  the  rod  of 
mother  superior  !  " 

"What  makes  you  jeer,"  answers  la  Marquise  sav 
agely.  "  Don't  you  think  you  had  better  arrange  for 
the  wedding  ceremony  ?  You  are  bound  to  Julie  by  the 
marriage  contract,  and  a  great  deal  financially  depends 
upon  the  ceremony  being  performed  in  proper  time." 

"And  I  shall  make  the  proper  time  the  limit," 
remarks  D'Arnac  nonchalantly.  "  I'll  have  my  whack 
at  gay  bachelorhood  as  long  as  it  lasts.  Have  you  any 
thing  further  to  suggest?" 

'  No — only " 

"Only  what?" 

"Only — "  falters  Mimi,  "don't  forget  in  having  a 
ward  that  you  have  also  a  fiancte" 

"  Diable  f"  cries  her  brother,  getting  very  red  in  the 
face,  "  what  do  you  mean  to  insinuate?  Remember, 
my  sister,  that  your  brother  is  a  man  of  honor." 

"Then,"  says  Mimi,  standing  to  her  guns,  "remem 
ber  that  you  are  a  man  of  honor,  and  remember  also, 
that  every  day  you  postpone  your  marriage,  gives  the 
man  you  now  know  as  your  enemy,  another  chance  at 
your  happiness — perhaps  another  chance  at  your  life!  " 

"Which  chance  I  will  take  for  the  pleasure  of  six 
months'  more  gay  bachelorhood ! "  laughs  D'Arnac. 
Then  he  cries  savagely,  perhaps  desperately:  "  Ma  foil 
would  you  mate  me  with  that  chit  before  my  time  ?  I 
have  promised  to  wed  her  by  the  i5th  of  next  December. 
On  that  day  I  give  my  hand  as  I  gave  my  word,  but 
until  then — '  Gay  Paris,  gay  Paris!'  and  he  bursts  into 
a  little  gay  chanson  indicative  of  the  delights  of  the 
gallants  of  the  French  capital. 

With  this,  breakfast  being  over,  Raymond  takes  hasty 
leave  of  Madame  la  Marquise,  laughing:  "Don't  look 
so  pensive,  Mimi.  I  have  a  review  at  the  Musquetaires 
this  morning,"  and  his  horse  being  ready,  rides  off 
towards  the  Port  St.  Antoine  and  the  barracks  of  that 
crack  regiment,  leaving  his  sister  wondering  how  this 
affair  will  culminate, 


68  THE  KING'S  STOCKBROKER. 

She  knows  the  customs  of  the  time,  and  the  prejudice 
of  the  nobility  would  make  it  a  greater  dishonor  to  his 
family  for  Raymond  d'Arnac  to  marry  the  brightest 
luminary  in  the  theatrical  world,  than  if  he  embezzled 
from  the  military  chest  of  his  regiment;  that  the 
players  of  her  day  are  considered  a  class  apart  from 
other  people;  that  though  Louis  XIV.  made  a  special 
edict  decreeing  they  were  to  be  regarded  as  other 
people,  and  invited  Monsieur  Moliere  to  dinner  with 
him,  to  the  disgust  of  his  courtiers;  that  the  edict  has 
changed  neither  court  nor  church,  and  that  the  ladies 
of  the  stage  are  considered  to  have  no  right  to  matri 
monial  ideas  outside  of  their  own  class;  that  they  may 
give  their  hearts,  souls  and  bodies  to  the  nobles,  but 
not  their  hands. 

Thinking  of  this  as  she  rises  from  the  table,  Mimi 
sighs:  "  Poor  little  Jeanne  !  " 

But  Raymond,  as  he  rides  from  the  review  to 
the  pretty  apartments  of  Mademoiselle  Quinault, 
has  no  sighs  in  his  heart.  He  is  enthusiastic,  curi 
ously  happy.  He  comes  up  with  military  tread  to  her 
apartments,  and  is  ushered  into  her  little  salon  by 
Madelon,  her  pert  maid  servant,  who  has  a  grin  on  her 
comely  yet  peasant  features  as  she  says:  "Made 
moiselle  is  at  home  to  you,  Monsieur  " — for  Madelon  is  a 
naughty  little  soubrette  and  has  been  maid  to  Made 
moiselle  Seine  and  some  other  actresses  who  have  had 
love  affairs  with  gentlemen  of  the  grand  monde,  and, 
acting  according  to  her  lights,  she  already  regards  the 
handsome  young  general  as  the  proprietor  of  the  estab 
lishment,  pretty  little  Jeanne  included. 

Striding  into  the  exquisite  room,  Monsieur  d'Arnac 
gives  a  gasp  of  astonishment. 

For  it  is  not  the  fascinating  actress  of  the  Francais 
who  rises  to  receive  him,  but  the  business  woman  of 
the  Rue  Quincampoix. 

Behind  a  pile  of  her  stocks,  flanked  by  rolls  of  secu 
rities,  stands  Jeanne,  who  cries:  "Behold!  here  they 
are,  guardian  general.  Here  are  the  '  mothers  '  and 
the  'daughters.'  I  place  my  fortune  entirely  in  the 
hands  of  the  gentleman  who  has  looked  so  well  after 
my  interests  in  the  six  years  he  has  taken  charge  of 
me.  Now,  shall  I  burn  them,  Mon  Seigmur. 


THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER.  69 

"  No!  "  mutters  Raymond 

"  Shall  I  sell  them?  They  have  gone  up  one  hun 
dred  livrcs  a  share  to-day." 

"  Perhaps  you  had  better  not  even  do  that,"  replies 
D'Arnac,  who  has  reflected  that  he  has  no  right,  what 
ever  his  personal  feelings  may  be,  to  injure  the  fortune 
of  the  young  lady  standing  before  him.  "Only,"  he 
says,  "  I  do  not  care  for  you  to  associate  with  financiers 
and  brokers." 

"  Very  well,  handle  the  mothers  and  daughters  for 
me.  I  bow  to  your  superior  judgment.  You  are  a 
general — generals  are  always  such  excellent  men  of 
affairs,"  says  Jeanne  archly. 

With  this  little  sarcasm  at  Raymond,  who  handles 
his  money  in  the  free  and  easy  manner  of  a  soldier, 
Mademoiselle  Quinault  puts  the  bonds  aside,  laughing: 
"  You  shall  speculate  for  me,  guardian,  but /will  obtain 
the  information,  eh?" 

"As  you  please,"  remarks  D'Arnac.  "Diable!  Who 
could  refuse  you  anything?" — for  he  has  been  looking 
at  Mademoiselle,  who  is  more  coquettish  perhaps  in  her 
toilette  of  the  morning  than  she  was  in  her  robe  of  the 
evening  before. 

"Then,  if  the  autocrat  is  mollified,  we  will  have  an 
afternoon  of  it.  You  shall  tell  me  of  Marseilles,  and  I 
will  gossip  to  you  of  the  theatre.  Have  a  seat,  savage 
general.  Oh!  not  so  far  away — there's  room  on  the  sofa, 
by  me,"  chirrups  la  Quinault. 

So,  after  a  pleasant  half  hour's  conversation,  Jeanne 
suggests  dinner,  saying:  "Horseback  exercise  at  the 
review  develops  a  soldier's  appetite,  eh,  mon  brave?" 

And  Raymond  admitting  the  truth  of  this,  they  go 
into  the  little  dining-room,  where  Madame  de  Caylor 
joins  them,  and  in  her  company  they  have  a  very  pleas 
ant  meal,  the  duenna  making  herself  very  agreeable 
to  the  dashing  young  general,  for  his  conversation  with 
her  of  the  evening  before  has  put  a  curious  idea  into 
this  romantic  poetess'  head. 

This  notion  that  has  crept  into  Madame  de  Caylor's 
Sappho-like  brain  is  presently  added  to  by  D'Arnac 
himself. 

Raymond  gets  into  the  habit  of  dropping  into  the 
Francais  about  the  end  of  the  performance,  and  loung- 


70  THE    KING  S   STOCKBROKER. 

ing  about  the  greenroom  (after  the  custom  of  that  day) 
and  escorting  Miss  Jeanne  and  her  duenna  home, 
thus  warding  off  the  attentions  of  gentlemen  whom  he 
considers  dangerous,  and  making  a  good  many  enemies 
for  himself  by  his  exploits  in  this  line. 

And  these  gentlemen,  filled  with  the  malice  of  dis 
dained  attentions  and  defeated  hopes,  in  the  course  of 
a  little  time,  set  rumors  afloat  which  are  not  greatly  to 
Raymond's  credit,  nor  conducive  to  the  fair  fame  of 
Mademoiselle  Quinault. 

Naturally  these  reports  reach  last  the  ears  of  those 
most  affected  by  them;  especially  as  the  generality  of 
the  world  consider  such  little  affairs  as  are  hinted  at  by 
the  disappointed  suitors  of  the  comedienne,  as  de  rJgle 
between  a  gentleman  who  is  a  general  in  the  army  and 
count  of  France,  and  a  colonel  of  a  regiment  of  the 
Garde,  and  a  lady,  no  matter  how  fascinating,  no  mat 
ter  how  spirituelle,  no  matter  how  GOOD — who  is  an 
actress — even  though  she  be  the  greatest  on  the  stage. 

These  rumors  floating  about  in  the  air  eventually 
find  their  way  to  the  ears  of  another  lady  who  has,  since 
her  return  from  Marseilles,  been  devoting  a  good  deal 
of  time,  a  good  deal  of  savage  longing,  and  a  good  deal 
of  jealous  apprehension — mingled  with  some  fearful 
spasms  of  rage  toward  the  dashing  young  general  of  the 
army.  For  her  very  helplessness  at  the  slights  of  Ray 
mond  d'Arnac  makes  De  Sabran  all  the  more  vindictive. 

Three  times  the  mistress  of  the  Regent  has  seen  this 
man  she  had  thought  her  very  own  in  Marseilles,  ride 
through  the  streets  of  Paris,  and  following  at  a  safe 
distance,  admiring  his  graceful  horsemanship,  his 
debonnair  manners;  and  three  times  she  has  seen  him 
dismount  and  toss  his  bridle  to  his  orderly,  on  the  Rue  de 
Conde1,  immediately  before  the  apartments  which  she 
knows  are  occupied  by  Mademoiselle  Quinault. 

On  coming  home  from  these  abortive  attempts  at  inter 
view  with  the  young  officer,  without  even  a  smile  or  a  bow 
from  him,  her  maid  servants  and  attendant  women  who 
have  fallen  upon  troublous  times,  have  wondered  what 
is  coming  over  the  wayward  temper  of  the  beauty,  upon 
whose  loveliness  they  wait. 

"  Mon  Dicu  !  "  cries  her  first  lady-in-waiting,  "  she'll 
be  boxing  my  ears  next.  She  did  that  to  one  of  the 


THE    KINGS   STOCKBROKER.  71 

maids  to-day.  Is  she  losing  her  money  in  stocks?  But 
no,  that  is  impossible!  " 

"  Has  the  Regent  been  unkind  ?  "  wonders  another. 

But  they  know  D'Orleans  is  as  devoted  as  ever.  Then 
one  of  them  says  with  a  grin  to  her  companions: 
"  Pardi!  I've  guessed  it — she's  having  her  first  love 
affair. " 

At  which  the  abigails  put  up  a  sudden  titter,  which 
dies  into  a  discreet  silence  as  Hilda  de  Sabran,  gleam 
ing  with  the  diamonds  of  the  Turk,  passes  through  the 
apartment  en  route  for  some  court  fete  or  sybaritic 
supper  party,  upon  which  some  gentleman  will  spend  in 
curious  entertainment  or  bizarre  menu  for  the  surprise 
of  his  guests  what  would  have  been  considered  the  for 
tune  of  an  heiress  in  the  preceding  reign. 

For  Paris  is  growing  richer — richer — RICHER! 

Monseigneur  Law  has  made  it  the  financial  Mecca  of 
the  world.  Boyards  are  coming  from  Moscow  and  St. 
Petersburg  to  speculate  on  the  Rue  Quincampoix. 
Italian  nobles  are  flocking  from  Turin  and  Rome. 
The  Armenians  and  Greeks  of  Constantinople  and 
the  money-changers  of  Vienna  are  thronging  to  the 
capital  of  France.  The  diamond  dealers  of  Holland 
and  the  merchants  of  England,  together  with  the  Jews 
of  the  whole  world,  are  crowding  here — by  carriage,  by 
diligence,  by  private  conveyance,  on  foot,  on  horse 
back — any  way  on  earth  to  get  to  Paris,  to  insert  their 
fingers  in  this  great  financial  pie  that  is  now  being 
baked  very  deftly  and  well  browned,  with  a  fine  crust 
of  stealing  and  cheating  upon  the  Rue  Quincampoix. 

For  Monseigneur  Law  has  by  this  time  obtained  from 
the  Regent  the  decree  taking  from  the  Fermiers  Ge"ne- 
reaux  and  the  Brothers  Paris  the  collection  of  all  taxes 
in  France  and  transferring  their  tremendous  privileges 
to  the  India  Company,  which  will  increase  its  revenues 
a  hundred  of  millions  a  year. 

And  now,  having  destroyed  the  Fermiers  Ge'ne'reaux 
and  every  other  stock  in  which  the  floating  money  of 
the  country  can  be  invested,  one  day  in  September, 
John  Law,  of  Lauriston  (commonly  called  Monseigneur 
Lass,  of  France),  has  made  the  most  audacious  and  yet 
the  most  far-sighted  proposition  that  ever  financier 
made  to  any  of  the  great  governments  of  the  world. 


72  THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER. 

He  has  said:  "With  your  permission,  Monsieur  le 
Regent,  I  WILL  PAY  THE  NATIONAL  DEBT  OF  FRANCE." 

"  You — will  do  it  ?  "  cries  D'Orleans,  his  eyes  beam 
ing,  for  it  has  been  his  one  thought  to  get  rid  of  this 
crushing  weight  upon  the  government  finances. 
"  Diable!  it  is  impossible!  Seventeen  hundred  mill 
ions — you — a  private  individual!  " 

"  Within  one  month,  Sire,  I,  on  my  own  security, 
guarantee  to  pay  the  national  debt  of  France — seven 
teen  hundred  million  livres.  Give  me  the  edict.  On 
my  head  be  it!  Within  a  month  I'll  pay  it  all." 

"  You  shall  have  the  edict — on  your  head  be  it.  If 
you  do  it,  you  will  be  a  god !  "  cries  D'Orleans. 

"Then  worship  me,"  laughs  Lass,  easily,  and  sends 
the  Regent  away  laughingly  to  squander  a  few  more 
millions  on  his  mistresses  and  sycophants,  though  in 
Philippe's  mind  there  is  one  thought:  "  Mon  Dieu! 
How  will  he  do  it  ?  If  he  does,  Law  is  the  greatest 
man  the  world  has  ever  seen." 

But  this  audacious  tender  of  Monseigneur  Lass  is  the 
wisest,  the  most  far-sighted  move  he  has  ever  made  in 
his  whole  life,  and  furthermore  is.  simple  as  paying  out 
money  from  one  pocket  into  the  other — for  that  is  liter 
ally  his  proposition. 

He  has  destroyed  every  commercial  company — every 
stock  jobbing  concern  in  which  floating  capital  can  be 
invested.  When  he  announces  that  in  one  month  he 
will  liquidate  the  public  debt  of  France — seventeen 
hundred  millions — what  will  become  of  the  seventeen 
hundred  millions  that  he  pays  over? 

It  must  seek  re-investment. 

What  investment  is  there? 

Only  the  stocks  of  the  India  Company,  OF  WHICH  MON 
SEIGNEUR  LAW  HAS  FULL  CONTROL! 

This  announcement  being  made  by  edict  of  the 
Regent,  the  holders  of  government  securities  for  a  few 
days  are  delighted.  They  rush  to  the  royal  bank  to 
have  them  liquidated. 

Then  their  pockets  full  of  money — what  will  they  do 
with  it?  How  invest  it — how  hide  it — how  make  it  even 
secure? 

BUT     ONE     INVESTMENT     IS     OPEN     TO     THEM!         THE 

STOCKS  OF  THE  INDIA  COMPANY! 


THE   KING  S   STOCKBROKER.  73 

They  rush  to  the  Rue  Quincampoix  and  buy  the 
securities  of  that  concern. 

Up  its  debentures  go — higher  and  higher! 

Another  payment  is  advertised  of  government  securi 
ties.  More  money  must  go  into  the  stock  of  the  India 
Company.  Higher  still  it  goes! 

The  holders  of  government  bonds  receiving  their 
money  at  the  Bank  Royal  (Law's  bank)  rush  to  the  Rue 
Quincampoix,  and  deposit  it  in  the  India  Company 
(Law's).  From  there  it  is  carted  back  to  the  royal 
bank,  and  again  paid  out. 

Up  go  the  securities  of  the  India  Company  once 
more! 

And  all  the  time,  what  is  the  result  of  the  Scotch 
man's  audacious  but  masterly  financiering? 

The  entire  money  of  the  country  is  simply  changed 
from  an  investment  in  the  funds  of  France,  to  an 
investment  in  the  funds  of  a  company  controlled  by  a 
private  individual — and  that  man,  Monseigneur  John 
Law,  the  financial  dictator  of  the  commercial  world. 

Higher  and  higher,  in  this  financial  battle,  mount  the 
securities  of  the  India  Company,  and  greater — greater 
becomes  the  wealth  made  by  the  lucky  speculators  in 
Mississippi  securities.  And  with  sudden  riches  comes 
startling  luxury,  delirious  extravagance!  The  prices 
paid  for  even  the  necessaries  of  life  double,  triple  and 
quadruple. 

The  streets  are  crowded  with  the  richest  of  equipages. 
Real  estate  mounts  in  value  one  thousand  per  cent. ! 

On  the  Rue  Quincampoix,  shops  that  rented  for  one 
thousand  livres  jump  to  sixty  thousand  a  year. 

Pandemonium  reigns  supreme!  The  crowds  are  so 
great  they  squeeze  each  other  to  death  on  that  little 
street,  fighting  for  bargains  in  stocks.  The  specula 
tion  is  of  the  most  bizarre  kind.  The  selling  of  "daugh 
ters"  and  "mothers"  is  shrieked  by  struggling  stock 
brokers,  who  are  almost  torn  to  pieces  in  their  efforts 
to  bull  and  bear  the  market. 

Quasimodo  Junior,  the  hunchback  of  the  Cafe  Pro- 
cope,  transferring  his  scene  of  usefulness,  hires  out  his 
hump  to  stockbrokers  to  write  contracts  upon^  in  the 
crowded  street,  and  makes  one  hundred  and  fifty"  thou 
sand  livres. 


74  THE    KING  S    STOCKBROKER. 

The  methods  of  robbery  invented  by  stockbrokers 
to  do  their  clients  would  put  the  modern  promoter  to 
shame.  The  schemes  of  reprisal  of  their  clients 
would  make  railroad  magnates  blush  with  envy  and  hang 
their  heads  at  their  own  puerility. 

Mofe  government  bonds  are  paid  off,  and  more 
money  seeks  investment  in  the  India  stocks — and 
higher  go  the  securities  again. 

And  over  all  this  seething  cauldron  of  profligacy,  of 
extravagance,  of  gambling  in  everything  on  earth — 
from  the  loves  of  women  to  the  lives  of  men — one  man 
reigns  supreme. 

PARIS,  THE  BUCKETSHOP  OF  THE  WORLD MONSEIG- 

NEUR  LAW  CHALKING  UP  THE  QUOTATIONS  ON  THE 
BLACKBOARD! 


BOOK  II. 
THE  RAID  OF  THE  POLICE. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

ROBBING    THE    OLD   WORLD. 

THIS  whirligig  of  excitement,  luxury,  and  extrava 
gance  of  course  has  its  influence  upon  Raymond,  his 
sister,  and  Mademoiselle  Quinault. 

D'Arnac  finds  his  income  from  his  estates  and  his 
official  appointments,  which  had  been  generous,  become 
in  proportion  to  his  expenses  more  and  more  limited. 

Little  Jeanne,  on  the  contrary,  grows  richer  and 
richer,  for  her  stocks  that  were  originally  worth  five 
hundred  livres  are  now  worth  six  or  seven  thousand  a 
share,  and  a  third  issue  is  promised  to  be  called  the 
"granddaughters"  that  will  greatly  increase  her 
fortune. 

Somehow,  her  fortune  inspires  her  with  a  curious 
hope : — her  eyes  that  had  been  wistful  as  they  turned 
towards  her  seigneur  have  now  in  them  beams  of  a  new 
happiness. 

As  for  Cousin  Charlie,  in  his  riches  he  has  forgotten 
his  terror  of  the  ghost  of  O'Brien  Dillon.  It  has  never 
reappeared  to  him,  but  the  agents  of  Monseigneur  Law 
at  Marseilles  have  sent  him  such  reports  that  he 
shivers  as  he  thinks  of  the  Irishman  he  has  injured;  for 
they  make  certain  to  his  analytic  mind  that  format 
number  1392  has  not  been  drowned  from  the  galley 
La  Sylphide,  but  has,  through  the  agency  of  D'Arnac,  in 
some  way  escaped. 

In  gaining  these  details  he  also  receives  sufficient 
information  to  be  very  well  satisfied  that  De  Sabran 


76  THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER. 

loves  once  more  the  old  comrade  of  her  husband,  and 
had  an  assignation  with  him  that  very  night  on  the  Isle 
Pomegue,  which  Raymond's  sudden  discovery  of 
O'Brien  Dillon  had  postponed.  For  to  Charles  de 
Moncrief's  mind  no  man  could  refuse  to  look  upon 
Hilda's  wondrous  beauty,  if  she  loved  him. 

Then  he  has  said  to  himself:  "Why  can  she  not 
love  me  ?  "  and  has  gnashed  his  teeth  in  impotent  desire, 
for  in  his  heart  of  hearts  Cousin  Charlie  still  has  one 
project  that  he  feels  will  make  him  really  and  truly  a 
boy  again — and  that  is  the  conquest  of  the  magnificent 
beauty  of  the  Mistress  of  the  Regent  of  France. 

This  information  about  the  escaped  galley  slave, 
being  brought  to  Monseigneur  Law,  makes  that  gentle 
man  look  very  serious.  He  says  to  himself:  "Not 
that  I  fear  O'Brien  Dillon,  immediately,  but  by  it  I 
learn  something  else.  It  proves  to  me  in  this  galley 
slave  entering  Paris  and  leaving  it  unreported  that  I 
have  lost  the  friendship  of  Marc  Rene  d'Argenson, 
Lieutenant-General  of  Police! " 

And  he  is  very  right  in  this — only  instead  of  losing 
the  friendship  of  the  Lieutenant  of  Police — he  has 
gained  his  active  hatred. 

For  envy  has  entered  the  soul  of  D'Argenson,  as  he 
has  seen  the  tremendous  success  of  this  man  he  had 
once  coolly  ordered  out  of  Paris,  as  he  would  a 
common  vagabond  and  wayfarer.  For  the  glory  of 
Monseigneur  Law  is  now  beyond  the  glory  of  any  other 
man  in  France — even  D'Orleans  himself — for  he  has  that 
charm  which  gives  the  greatest  popularity  on  this  earth — 
the  power  of  making  other  men  rich — and  women  also. 

He  is  besieged  by  countesses,  duchesses  and 
princesses,  begging  him  for  shares  in  these  securi 
ties,  which  go  up  day  by  day,  and  even  night  by  night; 
as  the  crowd  of  speculators  under  the  smoking  oil 
lamps  of  the  Rue  Quincampoix  shout  and  battle,  bear 
ing  and  bulling  the  quotations  of  the  various  stocks 
of  the  India  Company. 

Even  the  Church  has  beamed  upon  his  glory,  and  has 
appointed  an  abbe"  to  convert  the  financial  dictator, 
which  has  been  very  easily  accomplished — Monseigneur 
Law  subscribing,  with  the  ease  of  a  man  of  the  world, 
to  the  religion  of  the  country  he  lives  in. 


THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER.  77 

The  beau  monde  has  taken  him  also  to  her  heart;  the 
world  of  fashion  throngs  to  the  grand  fetes  at  his 
great  house  on  the  Place  Louis  le  Grand,  and  court 
beauties  petition  and  beg  and  humble  themselves  for 
invitations,  for  all  seek  the  favor  of  this  man  whose 
touch  is  that  of  Aladdin  upon  the  lamp,  and  who 
can  summon  the  genius  of  riches  at  his  bidding. 

But  among  the  court  ladies  who  are  most  persist 
ent  in  bothering  the  comptroller  of  finance  for  shares  of 
stock  in  the  India  Company,  none  equal  Clothilde,  the 
Comtesse  de  Crevecceur,  who  has  become  a  perfect 
fiend  upon  the  Rue  Quincampoix,  and  struggles  and 
jostles  the  stockbrokers,  and  haggles  with  dealers  in 
securities,  in  the  varying  struggle  for  fortune ;  for  the 
joy  of  the  speculator  has  entered  her  fat  soul,  and  will 
not  be  appeased  save  by  the  misery  of  the  speculator — 
which  may  come  afterwards. 

This  panjandrum  of  enormous  speculation,  inflated 
fortunes,  and  their  attendant  luxury  and  debauchery 
produces  wondrous  complications  and  bizarre  crimes. 
Many  of  these  are  the  indirect  product  of  Monseigneur 
Law's  financial  operations. 

That  gentleman,  with  the  wisdom  of  a  great  specula 
tor,  has  determined  to  build  up  his  financial  fabric  on 
the  solid  basis  of  the  successful  colonization  and  devel 
opment  of  the  great  valley  of  the  Mississippi,  now  open 
to  the  hand  of  France. 

The  year  before  he  has  founded  the  city  of  New 
Orleans,  which  to-day  remains  to  his  honor — a  lasting 
monument  of  what  this  man  would  have  done  for 
France,  had  France  but  permitted  him. 

To  obtain  emigrants  to  the  new  land  every  induce 
ment  has  been  offered  by  means  of  flaming  placards 
and  announcements.  He  has  made  the  populace 
believe  the  new  town  on  the  banks  of  the  Mississippi  a 
city  of  palaces,  when  it  is  but  a  village  of  log  cabins. 

These  allurements,  not  meeting  a  sufficiently  ready 
public  ear,  emigration  has  been  slow.  To  build  up  his 
colony  he  must  have  men  and  women  in  quantities  to 
suit;  and  Lass  is  not  the  man  to  want  a  thing  and  not 
obtain  it. 

He  has  consequently  within  the  preceding  year 
bought  from  a  German  petty  potentate  twelve  thousand 


78  THE  KING'S  STOCKBROKER. 

stout  and  hearty  male  peasants  of  the  Palatinate ;  four 
thousand  of  whom  have  already  arrived  in  the  new 
colony. 

For  these  peasants  wives  must  be  procured.  Conse 
quently  Monseigneur  Law  some  ten  months  previous 
had  received  an  edict  from  the  Regent,  permitting  him 
to  export  vagabonds  of  both  sexes  to  Louisiana,  and 
under  the  then  friendly  police  administration  of 
D'Argenson  this  had  been  done. 

This  first  shipment  of  rogues,  vagabonds,  criminals 
and  women  of  the  town  had  been  received  with  open 
arms;  but  the  ladies  exported,  not  turning  out  of 
the  greatest  domestic  value,  Monseigneur  Law  about 
this  time,  finding  further  necessity  of  female  emigration, 
had  obtained  another  edict  from  the  Regent  of  France, 
authorizing  him  to  export  the  daughters  of  very  poor 
families  to  the  land  of  the  West. 

Filled  with  this  project,  he  is  about  to  rob  the  Old 
World  of  its  peasant  girls,  to  give  population  to  the 
New. 

When  this  edict  is  brought  to  D'Argenson  for  his 
police  to  carry  out,  the  smile  of  the  devil  runs  over  his 
gloomy  face,  and  he  says  to  himself:  "This  order  I 
will  execute  so  as  to  bring  the  shrieks  of  an  outraged 
people  upon  this  financier,  whom  I  hate." 

Taking  counsel  with  De  Conti,  they  prepare  the 
grandest — the  most  extravagant  police  raid  on  record. 

"In  it,"  cries  De  Conti,  "my  dear  D'Argenson,  we 
must  abduct  those  who  are  loved,  so  that  those  left 
behind  will  curse  our  friend  Lass  till  their  cries  go  up 
to  heaven.  Burgeoisie  who  have  adored  mistresses 
must  despair  at  their  loss.  Doting  fathers  of  poor 
daughters  must  be  bereft  of  their  offspring.  Of  course, 
with  the  rich  and  noblesse  it  must  be  hands  off,  but  the 
others,  how  they  will  damn  the  Scotch  emigre". 

Acting  on  this  idea,  these  worthies  give  secret  notice 
to  their  adherents  throughout  France,  and  one  bright 
night,  on  the  ist  of  October,  they  inaugurate  an  official 
and  police  raid  upon  the  inhabitants  of  both  Paris  and 
the  surrounding  country,  that  makes  a  wail  and  shriek 
such  as  the  Israelites  of  Egypt  sent  up  to  heaven  on 
the  loss  of  their  first  born. 

On  that  dread  night  D'Argenson,  with  his  myrmidons; 


THE    KING  S   STOCKBROKER.  79 

De  Conti,  with  his  bravos,  to  whom  he  offers  fifteen 
francs  per  head,  and  the  local  officials  of  the  surround 
ing  villages,  who  have  had  their  instructions,  steal 
forth  and  make  a  foray  on  the  beauty  and  youth  of  the 
poorer  classes — on  all  not  under  official  protection,  or 
so  high  in  rank  they  are  beyond  them. 

That  night  the  prettiest  peasant  girls  in  over  two 
hundred  communes  disappear.  Most  of  the  loveliest  of 
the  demi-monde  flit  as  if  by  magic  from  Paris.  Eight 
vessel  loads  of  them  are  taken  to  Louisiana  to  become 
brides  to  colonists,  adventurers,  Indians,  anyone  who 
will  take  them — to  make  New  Orleans  more  populous. 

The  screams  and  imprecations  of  the  bereft  fill  the 
air,  and  for  one  short  week  Paris  is  compelled  to  virtue. 

But  within  seven  days  there  are  even  more  beautiful 
women  on  the  streets  of  the  city  than  there  had  been 
before  the  blighting  ruin  had  come  over  its  courtesans; 
and  in  the  rising  tide  of  stocks  on  the  Rue  Quincam- 
poix  the  public  forgot  it,  though  it  left  many  vacant 
places  by  peasant  firesides,  and  many  a  gay  young 
student  sighed  for  the  bright  eyes  that  even  as  he 
grieved  were  filled  with  tears  in  the  log  cabin  of  some 
settler  of  the  Mississippi. 

But,  oh,  what  delicious  opportunities  for  audacious 
private  revenge  this  affair  offers  to  the  initiated !  What 
chances  to  pay  off  personal  grudges  and  feuds  that 
have  been  put  at  interest,  not  only  to  commoners,  but 
to  the  noblesse,  for  on  that  dread  night  many  young 
ladies  of  quality  disappeared. 

Private  information  of  this  projected  raid  having  been 
brought  to  Madame  de  Sabran  and  Charles  de  Moncrief 
it  has  placed  in  both  their  wicked  heads  very  curious 
ideas. 

The  lady  has  cried:  "Now  I  have  her!  She  is  mine! 
Raymond  shall  never  again  see  this  woman  for  whom 
he  has  slighted  me." 

The  gentleman  has  laughed:  " Pardi!  if  I  can  but 
arrange  a  little  plan,  the  bride  may  be  wanting  that  may 
one  day  deprive  me  of  my  hope  of  the  estates  of  Creve- 
cceur." 

So  for  this  affair  both  had  hired  private  bands  of 
bravos  and  ruffians  for  their  special  purposes. 

This    intended    raid    is    officially    made    known  to 


8o  THE  KING'S  STOCKBROKER. 

Raymond  d'Arnac  on  the  morning  of  the  day  on  which 
it  takes  place. 

D'Argenson  (who  for  his  advice  in  the  O'Brien 
Dillon  matter,  perchance  thinks  he  has  some  claim  to 
the  lieutenant-general's  good  offices)  sends  for  him,  and 
after  showing  him  the  Regent's  order  remarks:  "We 
make  our  raid  to-night.  Would  you  kindly  see,  my  dear 
D'Arnac,  that  the  regiments  under  your  immediate 
command  are  so  disposed  that  no  chance  broil  may  take 
place  between  individual  members  of  them  and  the 
police  ?  Also  will  you  give  us  all  aid  in  your  power  ?" 

"I,  of  course,  will  not  move  the  troops  under  my 
command,"  replies  D'Arnac  very  civilly,  for  he  feels 
some  obligation  to  D'Argenson,  "  unless  ordered  by  the 
Regent,  or  Monsieur  le  Due  de  Villars,  commander-in- 
chief  of  the  garrison  of  Paris.  As  to  the  regiments 
immediately  under  my  control,  I  shall  issue  orders  that 
will  keep  them  in  their  barracks  this  evening,  for  it  is  a 
soldier's  nature  to  respond  to  the  cries  and  entreaties  of 
any  pretty  woman.  As  to  the  Musquetaires,  they  have 
certain  privileges.  Those  on  leave  will  not  be  recalled, 
but  the  bulk  of  the  command  I  shall  keep  in  their 
barracks.  Those  that  are  in  the  city  probably  will  not 
trouble  you  or  your  policemen.  They  are  gentlemen," 
remarks  Raymond  proudly. 

For  this  corps  possesses  among  its  ranks  many  volun 
teers  of  the  highest  name,  family  and  fortune;  a  great 
many  gentlemen  volunteering  to  act  as  privates  until 
they  receive  their  promotion  as  officers  of  the  general 
army.  Dukes  have  carried  muskets  in  it,  and  many  a 
marechal  of  France  has  marched  as  a  volunteer  under 
its  banner  in  the  preceding  reigns,  and  the  custom  has 
not  altogether  died  out. 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  general,  for  your 
action,"  replies  D'Argenson.  "  It  may  prevent  many 
broils  between  my  men  and  the  soldiers  about  Paris." 

"Very  well,"  answers  Raymond,  "  I  shall  take  the 
steps  that  I  have  outlined  to  you,  as  effectively  as  pos 
sible,  and  if  military  support  is  needed,  I  shall  be  at 
your  service,  Monsieur  D'Argenson,  as  soon  as  I 
receive  command  from  the  Marechal  de  Villars,  or  the 
Regent." 

This    meeting   passing  off   pleasantly  enough,   Ray* 


THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER.  8l 

mond,  in  the  course  of  the  day,  does  as  he  has  prom 
ised,  and  finds  himself  busy  getting  the  various  regi 
ments  of  his  command  into  their  barracks,  and  issuing 
such  orders  as  will  curtail  as  much  as  possible  the  number 
of  Musquetaires  in  the  city  during  the  coming  night. 

Occupied  with  these  duties,  he  is  at  the  barracks 
outside  the  Port  St.  Antoine  until  about  seven  in  the 
evening,  when,  riding  into  town  and  feeling  hungry,  it 
occurs  to  him,  as  he  comes  down  the  Rue  St.  Denis,  to 
stop  at  the  cafe  of  the  Turk's  Head  and  kill  two  birds 
with  one  stone — that  is — discover  from  Lanty  if  he  has 
had  any  communication  from  O'Brien  Dillon  and  get  a 
pleasant  supper  as  well. 

On  making  inquiry  for  "mine  host,"  Mr.  Lanty  sur 
prises  him  by  making  his  appearance  a  la  brigand  with 
a  huge  pair  of  bell-mouthed  blunderbusses  buckled  to 
his  side,  a  slashing  cavalry  sabre  swinging  behind  him, 
and  the  excitement  of  coming  battle  in  his  Irish  eyes. 
Though  bloodthirsty  in  his  equipment,  there  is  mystery 
in  his  manner. 

He  leads  Raymond  to  a  quiet  corner  of  his  house  and 
whispers:  "  Bedad!  Monsieur  General,  I've  little  toime 
to  talk  to  ye;  I'm  goin'  to  do  a  little  of  the  old  busi 
ness  to-night — just  to  freshen  me  hand." 

"  '  Of  the  old  business ' — what  do  you  mean  ?  "  laughs 
D'Arnac. 

"  Fighting!  I'm  one  of  the  raiders  this  evenin'  that'll 
make  Paris  howl.  There'll  be  many  a  pleasant  jostle 
and  riot  in  the  affair,  and  the  pay  is  very  good.  I  am 
one  of  a  special  band  of  ruffians  hired  by  your  cousin, 
De  Moncrief,  to  do  some  social  diviltry  to-night  on  the 
great  police  raid." 

"  Hired  by  Charles  de  Moncrief!  Were  you  engaged 
by  him  in  person  ?  "  says  D'Arnac  inquisitively. 

"  Oh,  no!  Geronimo,  the  Corsican,  is  making  up  the 
band.  Ye  see,  I've  got  quite  a  reputation  as  a  fighter 
on  the  street.  I've  chased  three  or  four  swindling  stock 
brokers  out  of  it  at  the  end  of  me  sword,  and  they 
think  there's  no  such  bully  on  the  Quincampoix  as  your 
humble  servant.  That's  what  made  them  engage  me. 
It's  a  special  band  of  fighting  men  they're  getting  up. 
It's  not  for  business  in  Paris,  I'm  told,  as  I've  a  horse 
to  ride." 


82  THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER. 

"You  are  sure  Cousin  Charlie  has  a  hand  in  the 
matter  ?"  queries  Raymond  wonderingly. 

"Sure  as  that  angels  have  wings.  Didn't  I  hang 
back  saying  the  police  would  get  hold  of  me  and  didn't 
Geronimo  say  I  was  to  be  a  policeman  to-night  myself — 
that  his  orders  came  direct  from  the  Procureur  du 
Roy  ? " 

"Oh,  ho!  I  presume  Cousin  Charlie  is  taking 
advantage  of  this  police  raid  to  abduct  a  ballet  girl." 

"Be  jabbers!  then  I  think  it's  a  curious  place  he's 
getting  her  from.  Be  me  soul!  this  is  the  first  time  I 
heard  of  ballet  girls  being  abducted  out  of  convents!  " 
laughs  the  Irishman. 

"  Out  of  convents — what  makes  you  think  that  ?  " 
whispers  D'Arnac. 

"On  account  of  the  rendezvous.  We're  told  to  meet 
together  by  midnight,  outside  the  walls  of  Les  Filles  dt 
la  Vierge  !  in  the  village  Villeneuve.  That's  about  ten 
miles  out,  I  take  it  ? " 

"And  you  are  going  on  such  an  errand  for  Charles 
de  Moncrief  ?  "  ejaculates  Raymond  astounded. 

"  Bedad,  I'm  goin'  to  spoil  it!  "  returns  the  Irishman, 
and  astonishes  D'Arnac  more. 

"Spoil  it!"  cries  Raymond.  "May  you  not  get 
spoiled  yourself  ? " 

"Begob!  if  it's  any  divil's  game,  I  am  going  to  try 
to  spoil  it!  I  don't  love  Cousin  Charlie.  Besides,  I 
think  I  will  be  safe  enough  doing  it.  Two  of  the  band 
are  men  I  bring  with  me  from  this  hotel — the  butcher 
and  the  underscullion.  They're  both  at  me  beck  an' 
call,  and  good  fighters,  having  been  soldiers  in  the 
Army  of  the  Rhine,  when  knocks  were  plenty.  I  don't 
guess  the  whole  band  will  amount  to  more  than  seven 
or  eight;  I'm  good  for  three  myself,  and  I  think  the 
butcher  will  make  meat  of  a  couple  of  the  Italians — he's 
so  accustomed  to  slaughtering  cattle." 

"Well,  take  care  of  yourself,"  says  D'Arnac. 
"Comte  Dillon  wouldn't  like  to  come  back  and  find 
no  Lanty. " 

"  Be  the  Powers!  he'd  cry  his  eyes  out,  as  I  did  over 
him,"  answers  Lanty.  "Besides,  there's  a  little  girl  up 
the  street  that  would  do  some  weepin'  also.  I've  told 
Marie  to  keep  close  in  the  house  this  evenin'.  Heiresses 


THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER.  83 

may  be  in  demand,"  adds  the  Irishman,  with  a  twinkle 
in  his  eyes. 

"You  have  no  news  from  O'Brien?"  asks  Raymond 
as  he  rises  to  say  good-bye. 

"No,  only  this,  which  came  by  the  courier  yesterday. 
It  simply  says  (the  Comte  is  not  much  at  writing  ye 
know) :  '  Tell  D'Arnac  I  have  succeeded  in  Vienna,  and 
am  on  my  way  back  after — . '  He  didn't  put  the  rest 
into  words  but  I  know  what  he  means.  He  said  also 
outside  of  Paris  he  would  notify  me  from  the  Auberge 
Le  Cerf  du  Bois — it's  down  the  Melun  way.  I  was 
tryin'  to  foind  ye,  this  mornin',  to  deliver  it,  but  ye 
were  out  of  town,  I'm  thinkin'. " 

"Yes,  at  the  barracks,"  replies  Raymond,  and  goes 
on  his  way,  giving  little  heed  to  the  matter,  except  that 
he  imagines  it  may  give  Lantya  funny  story  to  tell  him. 
The  Irishman  is  like  a  cat,  with  his  nine  lives,  and 
pretty  certain  to  fall  on  his  feet  from  any  distance  less 
than  balloon  height. 

As  Raymond  rides,  a  smile  of  expectation  comes  upon 
his  face ;  he  remembers  a  promise  to  escort  his  pretty 
ward  and  her  duenna  from  the  Theatre  Franfais  this 
evening.  His  spur  quickens  his  charger's  gait  and  he 
dashes  rapidly  up  to  the  Hotel  de  Chateaubrien  to 
change  his  military  garb  for  evening  attire. 

Going  to  his  apartments,  this  is  very  easily  done, 
with  the  aid  of  his  valet,  and  looking  at  his  watch, 
D'Arnac  notes  that  it  is  nine  o'clock,  and  hastens  his 
steps. 

As  he  is  passing  through  the  main  hall  of  the  building, 
the  voice  of  Mimi,  who  is  singing  some  little  chanson  of 
Mouret's,  comes  to  him  from  an  adjoining  salon.  A 
moment  after  apparently  hearing  his  step,  she  appears 
at  the  door  crying:  "  Voila  !  how  do  you  like  me,  en 
f$te,  my  brother  ?" 

"Ah,  going  out  for  the  first  time  since  Uncle  Henri's 
death?"  remarks  Raymond,  noting  that  Madame  la 
Marquise  is  in  very  gorgeous  evening  toilette. 

"  Yes,  a  little  concert  de  salon  at  the  Comtesse  d'Isle 
Adam's.  I  thought  I  would  get  your  opinion,"  remarks 
Mimi.  Then  she  says  archly:  "How  do  I  look?" 

"Like  the  prettiest  widow  in  France,"  whispers 
D'Arnac,  giving  her  blushing  cheek  a  kiss. 


84  THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER. 

"  You  will  not  come  with  me  ?  I  have  an  invitation 
for  you,"  suggests  Madame  la  Marquise,  looking  at  him 
inquiringly. 

"  I  am  sorry — another  engagement." 

"Ah,  yes;  the  usual  one,"  she  says,  "at  the  Fran- 
9ais."  This  last  with  a  little  sigh. 

A  moment  after  she  remarks,  forcing  herself  to 
smile,  for  her  brother's  eternal  Francais  business  is 
not  at  all  to  his  sister's  liking:  "  If  you  will  go,  I  have 
an  errand  for  you.  You  can  return  Mademoiselle 
Jeanne  her  scent  bottle  and  handkerchief.  She  left 
them  here  this  afternoon.  She  came  to  tell  me  of  the 
new  part  she  is  going  to  play  in  Monsieur  de  Voltaire's 
tragedy  of  Artimire,  which  entre  nous  little  Jeanne  has 
given  me  her  private  opinion,  will  be — ,"  she  whispers 
into  Raymond's  ear,  "by  the  critics." 

"  The  scent  bottle  is  pretty — perfume  delicious — ," 
remarks  Raymond  lightly.  "Have  a  sniff,  Madame 
la  Marquise,"  and,  opening  the  bottle,  he  throws  some 
on  the  handkerchief  and  places  it  under  his  sister's 
dainty  nostrils. 

"  What  an  extravagant  little  wretch  la  Quinault  has 
grown  to  be  !  "  cries  his  sister. 

"Why?" 

"  Why  this  scent  bottle  is  of  gold  and  Venetian  glass 
of  the  most  exquisite  workmanship.  Look  at  it  !  The 
bauble  cost  perhaps  twenty  louis.  And  this  handker 
chief — nothing  but  point  de  Venise,  with  Jeanne's  initials 
in  its  little  center." 

"Twenty  louis  more,  I  suppose,"  laughs  D'Arnac. 
"She  is  an  extravagant  little  puss,  but  then  she's  a 
rich  little  puss  also,  I  can  tell  you  !  As  her  guardian 
I  can  announce  Mademoiselle  Jeanne  is  worth  a 
million." 

"A  million — good  gracious!"  gasps  la  Marquise, 
growing  pale,  for  the  richer  Jeanne  gets,  the  more 
frightened  she  is  of  her  charms  and  fascinations  upon 
the  young  gentleman  standing  opposite  her. 

Then  she  says  suddenly  and  seriously:  "But  you 
will  have  to  give  this  Francais  business  up.  Some  day 
you  must  call  upon  your  fiancee.  You  can't  postpone  it 
much  longer  on  account  of  the  distance.  They  have 
brought  Julie  from  Melun  to  another  convent  nearer 


THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER.  85 

Paris — just  within  easy  ride — Monsieur  laggard  in  mat 
rimony. " 

"Diable!"  mutters  Raymond  between  his  teeth. 
"I'm  sorry  for  that  !  "  Then  he  cries  angrily:  "  Why 
do  they  try  to  thrust  this  child  down  my  throat  ?  If  I 
have  to  take  my  medicine,  don't  let  them  force  it  upon 
me,  so  as  to  make  the  dose  more  bitter." 

"  Don't  talk  that  way  to  me,"  says  la  Marquise,  quite 
haughtily.  "Keep  your  contract  like  a  gentleman, 
with  closed  lips.  Don't  be  so  ungallant  as  to  sneer  at 
a  young  lady  you  have  not  even  seen  for  seven  years. 
She's  a  beauty,  I  can  tell  you  ! " 

"  You  have  seen  her  ? " 

"Yes;  I  rode  out  to-day  with  her  aunt  to  Ville- 
neuve." 

"  Villeneuve! "  says  Raymond,  suddenly.  "  Ville- 
neuve — has  anyone  else  been  talking  to  me  about 
Villeneuve?"  Then  he  suddenly  cries:  "  Lanty — by 
heaven ! " 

Next  greatly  astonishes  his  sister,  for  he  says  quite 
anxiously:  "What  convent  did  you  say  my  affianced  is 
placed  in?" 

"  There  is  only  one  in  the  village — Les  Filles  de  la 
Merge,"  answers  la  Marquise. 

"  Les  Filles  de  la  Vierge?"  gasps  D'Arnac,  a  dazed 
but  horrified  look  flying  into  his  face. 

"  Yes;  Les  Filles  de  la  Vierge"  repeats  Mimi.  "  But 
what  do  you  mean?"-  for  the  eagerness  with  which 
Raymond  has  put  this  question  has  astounded  his  sister. " 

"  I  mean  I  am  no  more  the  laggard  in  love! "  he  re 
plies,  forcing  a  laugh.  "lam  going  to  ride  out  this 
evening  and  see  my  fiancee. " 

"To-night — you  won't  get  in.  It's  after  nine 
o'clock.  Don't  you  know  all  convents  close  at 
eight  ?" 

"Yes,  yes;  I'd  forgotten,"  remarks  Raymond.  "But 
for  all  that  I  shall  ride  out  very  shortly!  " 

And  with  these  ambiguous  words  he  leaves  his  sister 
astonished — his  manner  hints  more  than  his  words. 

Into  D'Arnac's  mind  has  suddenly  sprung  a  strange 
suspicion  of  Charles  de  Moncrief's  intentions  this  even 
ing — one  that  he  thinks  just  as  well  not  to  mention  to 
his  sister,  for  it  would  alarm  her,  and  he  does  not  care 


86  THE  KING'S  STOCKBROKER. 

that  a  lady's  name  which  is  to  be  connected  with  his  in 
marriage  should  become  the  talk  of  Paris  as  that  of 
the  heroine  of  a  great  adventure. 

As  he  strides  away  he  suddenly  thinks  of  the  other 
convent — the  Carthusian — the  one  he  visited  nearly 
seven  years  before,  when  he  encountered  almost  the 
anathema  of  the  church,  to  bear  little  Jeanne  into  Fri- 
burg  the  night  before  the  assault,  to  save  the  lives  of 
O'Brien  Dillon  and  his  regiment. 

This  makes  him  feel  very  tender  towards  Mademoi 
selle  Quinault.  She  would  feel  wounded  if  he  forgot 
his  appointment  with  her.  He  will  excuse  himself  to 
her,  tell  her  to  take  a  cab  and  go  home  with  her  du 
enna,  as  she  has  often  done  before. 

With  this  in  his  mind  he  hurries  to  the  theatre,  enters 
the  greenroom  of  the  Francais  (of  which  he  is  a  privi 
leged  visitor)  and,  fortunately,  seeing  the  actress  off 
the  stage,  gives  her  the  little  handkerchief  and  scent 
bottle  his  sister  has  charged  him  with. 

"  I've  half  a  mind  to  keep  the  'kerchief  as  a  sou 
venir,"  he  suggests. 

"  Oh!  not  that  one,"  she  cries.  "  Not  the  one  with 
the  red  initials;  it  is  a  present." 

"  From  whom?"  mutters  D'Arnac  in  awful  voice. 

"From  Monsieur  le  Due  de  Villars,"  she  laughs. 
"  You  don't  count  your  old  chief  among  the  prohibited 
ones,  do  you  ?" 

"  Of  course  not,"  answers  Raymond;  and  presenting 
his  excuses  would  leave  her  pouting  at  his  desertion  did 
not  little  Jeanne  have  a  bright  and  pleasant  spirit  and 
charming  temper. 

She  places  her  little  hand  upon  his  as  he  is  going 
away  and  says:  "  I  forgive  you,  mon  seigneur.  I  see 
you  have  business  of  importance  this  evening."  Then 
she  laughs:  "Whoever  it  is  with  I  pity  them,  from  the 
appearance  of  your  countenance,"  for  D'Arnac's  eyes 
have  a  curious  gleam  in  them,  as  he  is  thinking  of  his 
Cousin  Charlie. 

With  this  Jeanne  flits  away,  for  the  call  boy  is  after 
her,  to  prevent  a  stage  wait.  And  D'Arnac,  who  has 
been  pondering  over  what  he  has  to  do,  suddenly  goes 
out  of  the  stage  entrance,  hardly  noticing  in  his  haste 
that  there  are  more  hangers  on  about  the  portals 


THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER.  87 

of  Thespius  than  he  has  ever  seen  before.  Outside,  he 
marches  to  the  front  of  the  theatre-  and  looks  carefully 
through  the  audience  to  see  if  he  can  find  any  Musque- 
taires  on  leave  about  the  Francais. 

Fortunately  he  meets  two — the  Chevalier  D'Aubigne, 
a  volunteer  of  the  regiment,  and  De  Soubise,  one  of  its 
lieutenants,  and  an  old  friend  of  Raymond's  former 
days  in  Paris. 

"  Do  you  want  an  adventure  ?"  he  whispers  to  the 
young  men. 

"Yes,  anything  for  a  lark!"  replies  D'Aubigne",  a 
young  fellow  of  about  eighteen,  with  bright  eyes,  sunny 
hair  and  sunny  smile. 

"I  am  with  you  always,"  answers  Soubise  ;  then 
laughs  :  "Do  you  remember  how  we  drew  swords  to 
save  the  great  man  of  France  that  night  after  la 
Quinault's  debut?  " 

"Very  well!  "  replies  D'Arnac.  "  Rendezvous  in  one 
hour  with  me  at  the  Pont  aux  Tripes,  with  fresh  horses 
and  accoutrements;  fully  armed,  but  not  in  uniform. 
Make  yourselves  look  as  much  like  brigands  as  possible 
for  gentlemen  to  do. " 

"Oh,  oh!  General  Knight  Errant !"  laughs  D'Aubigne. 

"  Who  is  she  ?  "  whispers  De  Soubise. 

"I'll  explain  later — time  is  everything!"  returns 
Raymond.  "I  will  make  arrangements  for  your  leave 
of  absence.  Both  of  you  put  plenty  of  ammunition  in 
your  pouches  and  plenty  of  money  in  your  pockets,  for 
which  I  will  reimburse  you  on  my  return.  Now  good 
bye  for  an  hour!  " 

And  he  leaves  the  two  young  men  gazing  after  him 
in  astonishment,  and  calling  a  fiacre  makes  the  man  fly 
through  the  streets  to  the  Hotel  de  Chateaubrien,  where, 
fortunately,  finding  his  valet,  he  gives  him  some  hurried 
orders  ;  drives  off  to  the  house  of  De  Villars,  and 
thanks  God  that  he  finds  the  Marechal  at  home  enjoy 
ing  a  pipe,  and  in  very  comfortable  humor.  His  inter 
view  lasts  scarce  two  minutes;  he  simply  asks  for  leave 
of  absence  for  a  day  or  two,  for  personal,  perhaps 
grave  family  reasons — saying  that  it  is  important  that 
he  take  De  Soubise  and  D'Aubigne  with  him. 

"Ho,  ho!  an  adventure — a  lady?"  laughs  the 
Marechal. 


88  THE  KING'S  STOCKBROKER. 

"Yes!"  replies  Raymond,  with  military  candor — 
though  he  does  not  mention  his  suspicions.  Under  any 
condition  he  does  not  wish  Julie's  name  made  the  talk 
of  Paris. 

"Very  well!  I  authorize  your  leave  of  absence, 
together  with  that  of  De  Soubise  and  D'Aubigne.  See 
that  you  come  out  better  off  in  this  fight  than  you  did 
with  De  Conti's  ruffians  the  last  time,  mon  Bayard!" 
grins  the  old  gentleman. 

Getting  back  to  the  Rue  St.  Honore,  Raymond  finds 
his  valet  with  a  rig  that  gives  him  an  appearance  some 
what  between  that  of  an  escaped  jail  bird  and  a  gentle 
man  farmer. 

Putting  a  pair  of  excellent  flint  lock  pistols  into  his 
belt,  making  sure  he  has  lots  of  ammunition  for  them, 
and  girding  on  his  cavalry  sabre,  D'Arnac  mounts  a 
fresh  horse  that  is  ready  for  him. 

Arriving  at  the  Pont  aux  Tripes,  he  finds  D'Aubigne 
and  De  Soubise  waiting  for  him,  having  the  look  of  cut 
throats  and  marauders,  for  D'Aubigne,  who  has 
appeared  in  private  theatricals  at  court  fetes,  has  rigged 
himself  up  a  la  brigand,  with  Sicilian  hat  and  jack  boots, 
red  s"ash  and  Italian  stiletto,  as  well  as  the  usual  arms 
of  a  cavalryman.  De  Soubise,  who  is  always  the  gallant, 
appears  more  like  a  gentleman  bandit  than  the  other. 

"  Now,"  says  Raymond,  "  let's  get  under  way.  We 
must  ride  as  rapidly  as  we  can  without-  tiring  our 
horses. " 

"  Which  way  ?  "  says  De  Soubise. 

"To  Villeneuve  !" 

"Oh!  down  the  Fontainbleau  road,"  replies  D'Au 
bigne. 

"No!  Villeneuve  is  on  the  opposite  bank  of  the 
Seine,"  remarks  De  Soubise. 

"  You're  mistaken,  I  think.  It's  this  side, "  dissents 
the  Chevalier. 

On  this  Raymond's  two  companions  go  into  a  discus 
sion,  D'Arnac  gazing  at  them,  disconcerted,  for  he  isn't 
sure  which  is  right. 

Finally,  De  Soubise  says:  "  I  know  it  is  on  the  east 
bank!" 

"  Why  ?  "  asks  Raymond,  suddenly  entering  into  the 
conversation. 


THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER.  89 

"  Because  I've  been  there,"  replies  his  lieutenant. 

This  settles  the  matter. 

"How  shall  we  get  there?"  D'Arnac  hurriedly 
asks. 

"It's  perhaps  twelve  miles  by  the  road  from  where 
we  stand,"  is  the  answer.  "We  must  cross  the  river  by 
one  of  the  town  bridges  and  then  take  the  Charenton 
route." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE    AMBUSH     IN     THE    SENART    FOREST. 

"  LET  us  ride  at  once!  "  cries  Raymond.  "While  we 
are  talking  they  may  be  carrying  her  off." 

"Her!  Oh,  ho!  She  is  a  woman!"  laughs  D'Au- 
bigne. 

"  If  we  are  to  act  with  discretion  under  you,"  whis- 
t  ers  De  Soubise,  "  give  us  some  idea  of  the  foray." 

"  I  will,  as  we  journey." 

Whereupon  the  gentlemen,  turning  their  horses,  make 
for  the  eastern  part  of  the  city,  crossing  the  Seine 
hurriedly  by  the  bridges  of  the  He  St.  Louis,  thus 
getting  back  into  the  more  settled  portion  of  Paris. 

As  they  ride  towards  the  Port  St.  Antoine,  the  first 
signs  of  commotion  and  the  noise  of  the  police  raid  that 
is  taking  place  in  the  center  of  the  city  come  to  their 
ears. 

" Diable !  listen,"  whispers  D'Aubigne".  "D'Argen- 
son  and  his  myrmidons  are  at  it." 

"  Pardi  !  but  they  will  make  a  hole  in  the  courtesans 
of  Paris  this  evening,"  laughs  De  Soubise. 

For  Raymond,  in  explaining  his  suspicions  of  De 
Moncrief,  has  been  compelled  to  give  his  companions 
information  of  the  business  the  police  are  doing  this 
night.  • 

He,  however,  does  not  reply.  He  is  turning  over  in 
his  mind  rapidly  the  best  plan  of  action ;  but,  to  his. 
chagrin,  finds  himself  unable  to  come  to  any  absolute 
determination  as  to  what  his  course  should  be ;  he  knows 
so  little  of  the  locality  in  which  this  affair  must  take 
place. 


90  THE    KING  S   STOCKBROKER. 

Riding  rapidly  they  leave  Paris,  and  passing  the  Port 
St.  Antoine,  on  the  road  just  outside  the  gates,  which 
is  bordered  chiefly  by  sheds  and  hucksters'  booths,  they 
overtake  a  carriage  that  has  apparently  left  the  town 
just  before  them,  probably  conveying  some  party  to  one 
of  the  neighboring  country  villas. 

The  coachman  whips  up  his  horses  as  Raymond  and 
hiscomrades  come  clattering  behind  him,  butas  they  pass 
him  becomes  suddenly  sleepy  and  stupid;  so  much  so 
that  he  does  not  answer  D'Aubigne's  question,  if  he 
knows  whether  there  is  a  convent  at  Villeneuve  ? 

But  they  have  no  time  to  pause  to  arouse  the  driver, 
and  ride  hurriedly  on. 

A  moment  after  they  are  near  the  barracks  of  the 
Musquetaires  Noirs.  As  they  pass,  Raymond  for  a 
moment  debates  whether  he  shall  order  a  few  files  of 
the  regiment  to  accompany  him;  but  his  time  is  getting 
short  now.  Besides,  if  the  affair  turns  out  to  be  noth 
ing,  it  would  make  him  the  laughter  of  his  command. 
If  it  is  really  as  serious  as  he  suspects,  he  does  not 
wish  the  Comtesse  Julie's  name  to  be  mentioned  in  the 
barracks  of  Paris. 

With  Lanty  and  his  butcher  and  under-scullion,  and 
the  two  gentlemen  spurring  by  his  side,  his  party 
(including  himself)  will  amount  to  six — enough,  he 
thinks,  to  do  what  he  wants  successfully.  A  greater 
number  might  even  embarrass  him. 

He  quickens  his  pace;  they  reach  Charenton,  and 
crossing  the  bridge  over  the  Marne  turn  their  horses' 
heads  up  the  valley;  the  Seine  flowing  on  their  right 
hand  as  they  gallop  along  the  road  to  Villeneuve. 

Getting  into  the  open  country,  D'Arnac  looking  at 
his  watch  says:  "We  have  time  enough  to  reach  the 
place  without  exhausting  our  chargers." 

Slackening  their  gait  he  gives  his  companions  some 
further  details  of  what  he  fears  is  his  Cousin  Charlie's 
design. 

At  which  D'Aubigne,  throwing  back  the  fair  curls 
from  his  boyish  forehead,  laughs:  "How  I  will  fight 
for  your  little  comtesse,  my  colonel !  " 

And  De  Soubise,  who  is  a  man  of  comparatively  few 
words,  cantering  beside  Raymond,  simply  grips  his 
commander's  hand. 


THE    KINGS    STOCKBROKER.  9! 

D'Arnac  feels  very  sure  he  has  two  gentlemen  with 
him  who  will  do  their  devoirs  for  his  lady's  sake  as 
gallantly  as  knights  of  old. 

Then  Raymond  throwing  off  the  commander,  and 
both  gentlemen  being  of  the  noblesse,  they  chat  as 
comrades  as  they  hurry  along  the  country  road,  passing 
through  the  hamlets  of  Maisons  and  Valenton. 

So  communing  contentedly  together,  their  ride 
seems  a  short  one,  as  they  find  themselves  in  Villeneuve, 
which  is  a  quiet  village  situated  on  the  Seine  near 
where  the  pretty  little  Yeres  river  runs  into  it. 

Here,  after  looking  about  for  a  few  minutes  without 
discovering  the  convent,  and  being  saluted  by  the 
welcoming  voices  of  some  hundred  dogs,  they  finally 
come  upon  a  little  inn. 

D'Aubigne,  jumping  off  his  horse,  awakens,  after 
some  trouble,  the  innkeeper,  who  comes  out  in  a  very 
sleepy  and  disturbed  state  of  mind.  Noting  the 
appearance  of  the  horsemen,  the  moonlight  falling 
upon  brigand  accoutrements  and  ominous  arms,  mine 
host  gives  a  little  shriek  of  terror,  and  bolts  back  into 
his  house,  closing  and  locking  the  door  behind  him. 

But  D'Aubigne  is  battering  upon  the  portals  again, 
crying:  "Come  out — we  won't  hurt  you!  Come  out, 
trembler — give  us  what  we  want,  and  we  will  pay  you 
well.  If  you  open  the  door,  you  will  find  a  louts  right 
under  it." 

This  the  man  cautiously  does,  and  discovering  the 
gold  piece,  takes  heart  again,  and  reappears  saying: 
"Gentlemen — what  will  you  have — refreshments — 
supper  ? " 

"No — information!"  replies  D'Aubigne.  "Quick 
information!  " 

"Is  there  a  convent  in  the  town  ?"  asks  Raymond 
sharply. 

"  Yes,  Monsieur." 

"  Ah,  what  is  its  name  ?  " 

"  Les  f  tiles  de  Notre  Dame  !  " 

"That  is  not  the  one  I  want,"  replies  D'Arnac. 
"  There  is  another!  " 

"  Not  within  three  miles  on  this  bank  of  the  river," 

"  This  is  Villeneuve  ?  " 

"Yes," 


92  THE    KING  S    STOCKBROKER. 

"  Then  there  is  another." 

"Yes!  of  course  there's  another  Villeneuve!" 
answers  the  man. 

This  astounds  De  Soubise;  makes  D'Aubigne  mutter, 
"  I  was  right!  "  and  horrifies  Raymond. 

"Another  Villeneuve  !  "  he  gasps. 

"Of  course  there  is — Villeneuve  le  Roy,  just  across 
the  river!"  replies  the  innkeeper.  "This  is  Ville 
neuve  St.  Georges." 

"  Diable  !     You  know  the  other  place  ? " 

"Yes,"  says  the  man,  "sometimes  I  go  across  to 
buy  carrots  there.  They're  cheaper  than  on  this  side." 

"  Is  there  a  convent  there  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"What  is  its  name  ?" 

"  I  am  not  quite  sure,  but  I  think  it  is  called  Les 
Filles  de  la  Vierge." 

"  That's  the  place,"  cries  Raymond.  "  How  can  we 
get  across  ? "  disappointment  in  his  tones,  for  he  has 
wasted  an  hour  coming  to  this  wrong  place  on  the 
wrong  side  of  the  river. 

"  There  is  no  ferry  here." 

"  Morbleu!" 

"  If  you  will  go  a  little  further  up  the  river  there  is 
one  near  Ablon. " 

"  How  can  we  get  to  Ablon  ? " 

"You  can't  get  to  Ablon.  It's  on  the  other  side  of 
the  river. " 

"  Nom  de  Dieu!  Don't  joke,  fellow.  How  can  we 
get  to  the  ferry  ?  " 

"Oh,  pardon!"  stammers  the  innkeeper.  "Cross 
the  Yeres.  There  is  a  little  bridge  a  hundred 
yards  from  here.  Then  go  up  the  bank  of  the  Seine 
for  a  mile  and  you  are  at  the  bae  !  " 

"Do  you  know  any  of  the  country  beyond  ?"  asks 
Raymond,  who  thinks  he  might  as  well  get  the  topog 
raphy  of  the  vicinity  properly  in  his  head  this  time. 

"Oh,  yes,  back  of  the  ferry  on  this  side  is  the 
forest  of  Senart.  There  is  a  fine  chateau  there — 
though  I  - 

"Well!" 

"  I  don't  think  they  have  much  money!  "  ejaculates 
the  innkeeper,  hesitatingly,  who  can't  seem  to  get  out 


THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER.  93 

of  his  head  that  he  is  talking  to  bandits;  an  opinion 
that  is  enforced  by  the  incautious  remark  of 
D'Aubigne,  who  cries:  "If  they  cross  the  river  the 
forest  would  be  the  best  place  to  waylay  them!  " 

At  which  the  Boniface  flies  into  the  house  again,  and 
they  can  hear  him  double  bolt  his  doors.  And  though 
D'Aubigne  assaults  it  again,  for  they  wish  to  ask  him  a 
few  more  questions,  he  is  obdurate  and  prays  them  for 
the  sake  of  the  Virgin  to  go  away  and  leave  him  alive. 

"Come!  "  cries  Raymond,  "we  have  no  more  time 
to  waste  on  innkeepers!  "  and  looking  at  his  watch,  he 
finds  it  is  after  twelve  o'clock. 

With  this,  spurring  their  horses,  they  canter  over 
the  rustic  bridge  that  crosses  the  Yeres,  flowing  between 
its  high  banks  covered  with  vines  and  lined  with  pop 
lars.  A  moment  after  they  are  on  the  side  of  the 
Seine,  which  runs  rippling  on  their  right. 

On  their  left  the  ground  slopes  up  gradually  to  the 
high  table  land  of  Brie.  Before  them  they  can  see 
heavy  woodland,  casting  shadows  in  the  moonlight, 
about  a  mile  away.  They  ride  up  the  bank  of  the 
Seine,  and  in  the  course  of  perhaps  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  find  themselves  at  a  ferry — but  the  boat  is  not 
upon  their  side  of  the  river. 

It  is  apparently  in  use,  for  a  woman  is  awake  in  the 
ferryhouse,  and  to  their  questions  replies  that  the  boat 
has  been  called  to  the  opposite  shore  a  few  minutes 
before,  but  will  undoubtedly  soon  return.  It  is  large 
enough  to  carry  six  men  and  horses. 

But  as  the  woman  speaks  she  suddenly  utters  a  shrill 
" Man  Dieu!  what  is  that?"  and  running  out  on  the 
bank  of  the  river,  listens. 

The  three  horsemen,  who  have  dismounted,  listen 
also,  for  to  their  ears  comes  the  faint  noise  of  com 
bat  from  across  the  water.  One  or  two  pistol  shots  are 
heard,  then  a  louder  report  and  a  few  cries  and 
screams. 

"  Jump  in  and  swim  our  horses  to  the  other  side  !  " 
cries  D'Aubigne,  with  the  impatience  of  youth. 

"  No,"  replies  Raymond,  putting  his  hand  upon  the 
boy's  shoulder,  "we  would  have  difficulty  in  landing  in 
the  face  of  an  enemy.  Besides,  we  would  be  swept 
down  by  the  current,  and  land  a  mile  below.  Get 


94  THE  KING'S  STOCKBROKER. 

behind  the  ferryhouse,  quick  !  Conceal  the  horses — 
my  God  !  they're  coming  !  " 

"Diable  !  You  are  right  !  "  answers  De  Soubise,  for 
in  the  still  night  they  can  hear  the  sound  of  the  ferry 
barge  as  it  crosses  attached  to  a  rope  stretched  high 
above  the  river,  from  bank  to  bank. 

Raymond,  peering  across,  can  see  that  the  boat  is 
occupied  by  more  than  the  ferryman. 

He  withdraws  behind  the  cabin  himself,  and,  looking 
at  his  companions,  finds  they  have  prepared  their  arms 
and  are  both  ready  with  sword  and  pistol,  for  whatever 
may  come. 

He  hurriedly  prepares  himself  also. 

"If  they  are  carrying  off  the  comtesse,  we  will  take 
them  as  they  land,'  whispers  D'Aubigne,  for  the  boat 
is  almost  on  their  side  of  the  river. 

But  just  at  this  moment  there  comes  to  Raymond's 
ears  words  that  make  him  start:  "Be  jabbers  !  It's 
lucky  we've  got  the  river  between  those  murderin' 
divils  and  ourselves,  Butcher." 

"It's  the  voice  of  a  friend  !"  cries  D'Arnac,  and 
runs  down  to  the  river  bank  so  incautiously  that  Lanty, 
shouting  "  Bedad  !  they're  on  this  side  of  the  river, 
too  !  God  help  us,  Butcher!  "  springs  out  to  attack  him 
with  sabre  and  pistol. 

But  on  the  bank  he  gasps:  "  By  the  powers!  it's 
Giniral  d'Arnac!  "  and  a  moment  after  adds:  "Be 
my  soul!  I  thought  you  were  a  bandit!  You  look  like 
one,  anyway !  What  other  cut-throats  have  ye  got  with 
ye? "  and  rolls  his  eyes  upon  D'Aubigne  and  De  Sou 
bise,  who  have  hurriedly  followed  their  commander's 
steps. 

"  Two  Musquetaires — I've  no  time  to  explain!  "  • 

"Neither  have  I.  We  must  get  away  from  this 
place  quick!  They'll  be  comin'  over  soon  themselves 
with  the  girl." 

"  They  have  carried  her  off  ?  " 

"Aye!  Bedad  an' I  tried  to  stop  'em.  I'll  tell  ye 
•about  it  as  we  get  away  from  the  ferryboat.  For  your 
life  don't  try  to  cross — there's  a  round  dozen  of  'em — 
fighting  men.  They're  coming  over  sure.  I  know 
their  route!  "  whispers  Lanty,  laying  detaining  arm  on 
P'Arnac,  who  is  about  stepping  into  the  boat.  "  Let's 


THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER.  95 

lave  in  a  hurry,  or  the  ferryman  may  tell  'em  that  we 
are  still  on  their  track,  as  we  are,  ain't  we,  Butcher  ? 
Faix,  I'm  not  the  man  to  desert  screaming  beauty  in 
distress.  Fortunately  the  butcher  and  I  saved  our 
horses,  though  we  left  the  poor  under-scullion  on  the 
other  side  of  the  river,  dead,  if  Italian  knives  will 
deaden  anything." 

While  he  is  speaking,  Lanty  and  his  butcher,  who  is 
a  swarthy,  short,  thickset  man,  lead  their  nags  out  of 
the  boat.  Then  mounting  his  horse  the  Irishman  shouts 
with  all  his  lungs:  "  Fly  for  yer  lives!  " 

"Fly — never!  "  cries  D'Aubigne.  "What  does  the 
coward  mean  ? " 

"  Tell  young  spitfire  it's  a  ruse,"  whispers  Lanty  to 
Raymond.  "  I  am  doing  this  for  the  benefit  of  the 
ferrymen,  so  they  tell  Geronimo  and  his  band  we're 
runnin'  away."  Then  he  yell§  again  louder  than  ever: 
"  Boys,  hurry  to  Paris  or  they'll  murder  us!  " 

And  the  whole  party  clatter  off  as  fast  as  their  horses 
can  take  them,  D'Aubigne  by  this  time  understanding 
what  is  required  of  him. 

A  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  river  Raymond  reins 
in  and  says :  "  Now  tell  me  all  about  it ! — Quick !  " 

"Well,  the  short  of  a  long  story  is,  I  thought  I 
would  spoil  De  Moncrief's  little  plan,  and,  as  ye  hinted, 
the  old  fox  nearly  spoilt  me.  I  and  the  butcher  and 
the  under-scullion  rode  into  Villeneuve  le  Roy  on  time, 
making  rendezvous  with  three  others,  under  the  walls 
of  the  convent;  Geronimo,  leader  of  the  party,  and 
two  gentlemen  of  the  Italian  persuasion,  bein'  the 
others.  Begob !  I  thought  that  was  all  of  'em.  Corsi- 
can  Geronimo,  who  is  a  very  gentlemanly  mannered 
cut-throat,  told  us  to  draw  back  a  little.  Then,  as  the 
clock  struck  twelve  up  in  the  tower  of  the  church,  he 
rapped  on  a  little  portal  of  the  convent  wall,  and  it 
was  opened  suddenly,  and  the  swatest  voice  in  the 
world  said:  '  Is  that  you,  Cousin  Bon-bons,  and  is  ugly 
Raymond  with  you  ? ' ' 

"Raymond!  She  meant  me!"  whispers  D'Arnac 
under  his  breath. 

' '  Musha !  I  was  afraid  so  at  the  time  from  the  descrip 
tion,"  returns  the  Irishman  with  a  dry  chuckle. 

"With  that,   before  she   could    utter  another  word, 


96  THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER. 

Geronimo,  who  understands  these  things,  clapped  a 
sudden  hand  over  her  mouth,  and  whisked  her  out  of 
the  convent  into  which  she  had  made  a  feeble  effort  to 
retire,  and,  closing  the  door  after  him,  he  says:  'This 
is  the  girl,  boys!  Two  hundred  and  fifty  livres  a  piece 
for  ivery  one  of  ye ! ' 

"And  I  said:  'Not  for  me  !'  and  drew  me  sword. 
'The  girl  is  mine  !  I'll  spoil  yer  plans,  ye  murderin' 
villains  ! ' 

"  And  the  butcher  and  the  under-scullion  stood  by 
me.  I  thought  it  was  only  three  to  three  and  we  had 
an  easy  thing. 

"  Bedad  !      I  didn't  know  yer  Cousin  Charlie. 

"With  that,  up  springs  a  dozen  more  of  them  from 
the  surrounding  hedge.  They  had  been  put  out  of  the 
way  so  as  not  to  frighten  the  girl — too  soon. 

"I  plucked  the  little  lady  out  of  Geronimo's  arms — 
but  I  could  not  fight  a  dozen  of  them  with  one  hand,  so 
I  had  to  drop  her,  the  poor  thing  had  fainted  I  think. 

"A  minute  after  I  had  to  stop  fighting  and  take  to 
running.  But  by  the  blessing  of  God,  I  and  the 
butcher  got  back  to  our  horses  again,  for  most  of  the 
others  were  occupied  by  their  leader's  directions  about 
their  captive,  and  though  we  were  pursued  we  got  down 
to  the  bank  of  the  river,  where  I  found  the  ferryboat,  and 
here  we  are  by  the  mercy  of  God,  though  I  am  afeard  the 
poor  under-scullion  will  never  scour  dishes  again.  He 
had  two  knives  in  him  when  last  I  saw  him.  But 
they're  comin'  over  on  this  side.  I  know  their  plans 
enough  for  that,  and  I  know  this  country  very  well, 
Mr.  Raymond.  They  want  to  get  on  the  main  road. 
They're  going  to  take  her  to  Melun." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  that  ? " 

"Certain  !  Fresh  horses  are  there  for  'em.  They'll 
get  her  to  Marseilles  as  quick  as  they  can  and  on 
board  ship  for  New  Orleans  and  the  Injins. " 

"  Not  while  I  live  !  "  replies  D'Arnac. 

"  Then  we  might  attack  them  in  the  ferryboat, 
before  they  land  !  "  suggests  Lanty.  "  I've  got  a  long 
gun  here  at  me  back  that  will  shoot  across  the  river," 
and  he  pats  a  very  curious  weapon  that  he  has  slung 
from  his  shoulder  after  the  manner  of  a  cavalryman. 

"Impracticable!     You  might  shoot  her!"  answers 


THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER.  97 

Raymond.  "Besides  they  would  then  keep  on  that 
side  and  we  want  them  on  this  !  " 

After  a  moment's  consultation  with  De  Soubise,  it  is 
arranged  that  they  retire  from  the  river,  and  waylay 
the  party  as  they  pass  along  the  road  to  Melun,  the 
forest  of  Senart  being  the  very  place  for  this  business. 

So  they  wait  where  they  are,  resting  their  horses, 
with  the  exception  of  Lanty,  who  returns  nearly  to  the 
ferryhouse  again,  to  bring  news  of  the  crossing  of 
Geronimo  and  his  bravos  with  their  captive. 

But  here  there  is  so  much  delay  that  D'Arnac  himself, 
after  waiting  two  hours,  goes  to  the  side  of  the  Irish 
man,  and  whispers  :  "If  they  do  not  cross  soon,  we  must 
cross  to  them.  If  they  have  gone  by  the  Fontainbleau 
road  on  the  other  side  of  the  river  they'll  have  two 
hours'  start  of  us." 

But  even  as  he  says  this,  the  noise  of  the  moving 
ferryboat  comes  to  them,  crossing  to  their  bank  of  the 
river.  .  • 

As  well  as  they  can  distinguish  in  the  darkness,  for 
the  moon  has  gone  down,  it  is  full  of  men  and  horses. 
Raymond  would  return  to  his  command,  but  Lanty 
observes :  "  We  have  plenty  of  time  yet.  It  will  take  two 
more  loads  to  get  'em  all  across,  and  they  won't  bring 
the  girl  till  the  last  trip.  They'll  be  an  hour  more, 
and  we'll  have  'a  little  light  by  that  time  which'll  help 
us." 

This  turns  out  as  Lanty  predicts.  Four  men  with 
horses  disembark.  The  boat  goes  back  to  the  other  side, 
moving  very  slowly,  the  ferrymen  are  tired  and  sleepy, 
and  the  rope  damp  with  morning  dew.  Some  time  after 
it  brings  over  four  more  horsemen.  Then  it  goes  back 
again,  and  in  the  first  light  of  the  morning  they  discover 
there  are  four  more  men  in  the  boat,  with  their  horses, 
and  a  figure  that  appears  to  Raymond  like  that  of  a 
woman. 

"  That's  her!  I  recognize  the  dress  of  the  convent!" 
whispers  the  Irishman.  "  Now,  we'll  go  along  the  road 
ahead  of  'em  and  work  up  a  little  surprise  for  the 
murderin'  divils  in  the  wood  of  Senart." 

With  this  they  return  to  their  party,  and  Lanty 
leads  the  way  along  a  dusty  lane  that  runs  to  Montger- 
on,  remarking  parenthetically:  "  I  know  the  country 


98  THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER. 

very  well.     I've  been  all  over  it  for  cabbages  for  my 
hotel,  and  spring  lamb  for  the  high  livers." 

After  riding  perhaps  half  a  mile,  they  reach  the  direct 
Melun  road,  and  taking  their  way  along  this  towards  the 
south,  soon  find  themselves  in  the  heavy  woodlands  of 
the    forest,    where   Raymond    selects   a  place   for  the- 
ambuscade. 

With  the  deftness  of  a  man  accustomed  to  attack 
and  defense,  he  picks  out  a  spot  where  the  road, 
making  a  sharp  turn,  runs  between  a  large  rock  on  one 
side,  and  on  the  other  a  dense  thicket,  capable  of 
perfect  concealment  for  man  and  horse.  Just  opposite 
the  rock  there  is  a  large  oak  tree  with  spreading 
branches,  some  of  the  larger  of  which  extend  nearly 
across  the  road,  which  narrows  at  this  point  on  account 
of  the  limestone.  In  the  thicket  he  places  De  Soubise 
and  the  butcher;  on  the  other  side  just  behind  the  rock 
he  stations  Lanty  and  D'Aubigne.  Then  he  gives  his 
directions. 

As  the  escort  turns  the  rock,  the  attack  is  to  be  made. 

They  are  to  use  their  pistols  at  once,  being  very  care 
ful  to  shoot  at  no  one  near  the  captive.  After  the 
volley  they  are  to  charge,  sabre  in  hand. 

"An*  what  will  ye  be  doing?"  says  Lanty  to 
D'Arnac,  with  the  familiarity  of  an  old  acquaintance. 

"  I  ?     I  shall  be  waiting. " 

"What  for?" 

"To  get  the  girl  !  And  I'll  have  her,"  says  Raymond. 
"  Look  after  the  men  of  the  party;  I'll  get  the  girl." 

"  Ah,  you  always  like  nice  things,"  laughs  D'Aubigne. 
"But  from  where  will  you  get  Mademoiselle;  not  the 
middle  of  the  road  ?  " 

"  From  the  branch  of  that  tree,"  answers  D'  Arnac, 
pointing  to  a  big  leafy  limb  that  hangs  over  the  center 
of  the  lane.  "My  signal  for  the  attack  shall  be  my 
spring  upon  the  man  as  he  rides  under  me  carrying  the 
comtesse. " 

"But  they  may  see  you  too  soon,  and  retreat?" 
dissents  De  Soubise. 

"  Hardly  in  that  heavy  foliage ;  but  perhaps  I'd  better 
make  sure,"  replies  D'Arnac.  Then  turning  to  the 
butcher  he  says:  "  Your  coat  is  green — give  it  to  me 
and  take  mine.  " 


THE    KING  S    STOCKBROKER.  99 

"I  never  refuse  good  bargains,-"  grins  the  cattle 
slayer,  and  does  as  he  is  bid,  producing  a  fearful 
appearance  in  Raymond,  as  the  garment  is  dirty,  spotted 
with  beef  blood,  and  very  much  more  disreputable  than 
what  the  young  general  had  sported  for  the  raid,  which 
is  saying  a  good  deal. 

"  Now,  with  your  cap,  my  man,  I  don't  think  they'll 
notice  me  till  they  feel  me." 

And  this  further  exchange  giving  Raymond  the 
appearance  of  a  slaughter-house  tramp,  he  mounts 
hastily  to  his  perch  amid  the  laughter  of  D'Aubigne 
and  the  guffaws  of  Lanty. 

A  moment  after  D'Arnac,  from  his  tree,  whispers: 
"  Quiet!  prepare  yourselves — they  are  coming!  " 

But  it  is  a  false  alarm,  and  they  wait  and  wait,  Ray 
mond  with  feverish  impatience  and  anxiety,  for  he  feels 
this  danger  has  come  upon  the  girl,  not  for  her  own 
sake,  but  for  his — that  this  attack  upon  her  safety  has 
been  made  because  she  is  his  affianced  wife. 

Even  as  he  thinks  this,  Lanty,  who  has  gone 
down  the  road  on  foot,  returns  very  hurriedly  and, 
passing  him,  whispers:  "They're  corning,  carelessly 
and  disorderly— I  think  it  will  be  a  fete  champetre 
for  us. " 

Five  minutes  after  the  head  of  the  party  come  into 
sight.  They  are  riding  slowly  and  carelessly,  appar 
ently  fatigued  from  their  night's  efforts.  More  afraid 
of  pursuit  than  attack  in  front,  they  are  arranged  in  the 
following  order: 

Three  men  ride  ahead.  Just  behind  them  comes 
their  lieutenant,  a  very  suave-looking  gentleman  of 
sweet  Italian  manners,  who  carries  in  his  arms,  in  front 
of  him  on  the  saddle,  the  light,  graceful  figure  of  a  girl 
of  some  sixteen  or  seventeen  still  robed  in  her  convent 
uniform.  She  is  perhaps  fainting  or  under  the  influence 
of  some  drug,  for  she  makes  no  outcries — she  sheds  no 
tears — only  there  is  a  fluttering  of  her  white  hands  as 
she  is  borne  along. 

Two  men  ride  behind  some  twenty  paces;  the  others, 
the  rear  guard,  six  in  number,  are  nearly  two  hundred 
yards  in  the  rear.  D'Arnac  from  his  perch  can  see 
they  expect  their  danger,  if  any,  will  come  from  Paris, 
for  all  of  the  cavalcade  occasionally  look  searchingly 


TOO  THE    KING  S    STOCKBROKER. 

behind  them,  and  Geronimo,  their  captain,  rides  with 
the  rear  guard. 

The  first  three  men,  carelessly  laughing  and  chatting 
in  an  easy  way,  in  bad  French,  pass  under  Ray 
mond  but  do  not  see  him.  Some  movement  of  the 
girl  has  attracted  their  attention,  and  the  brute  who 
carries  her  remarks  savagely:  "Curse  you,  Miss  Bag 
gage!  Scream  again  and  I'll  slap  your  pretty  ears. 
Won't  even  the  Eastern  drug  stay  your  long  tongue? 
But  for  the  big  reward,  I'd  cut  your  white  throat  and 
leave  you  in  the  road !  " 

This  is  a  very  unfortunate  expression  for  the  fellow 
— it  curdles  the  last  drop  of  pity  in  D'Arnac's  heart.  The 
Italian  is  just  coming  under  the  tree  as  he  makes  it.  Glar 
ing  down  upon  his  unconscious  head,  Raymond's  eyes 
meet  two  hazel  ones  beaming,  through  despairing  tears, 
towards  heaven,  imploring  mercy  that  comes  not  from 
men — two  appealing  hands  are  clasped  in  prayer. 

As  her  eyes  meet  D'Arnac's,  the  girl  gives  a  sudden 
startled  cry — the  brute's  hand  is  raised  to  fulfill  his 
threat — at  that  moment  Raymond  springs  and  strikes, 
and  the  fellow  thinks  some  wild  animal  has  stung  his 
vitals. 

In  Hades  he  informed  inquiring  devils  that  a  bear 
had  just  sprung  upon  him  from  a  tree  and  killed  him. 

Of  the  others  left  behind,  two  fall  to  pistol  shots  and 
one  dies  to  the  sharp  crack  of  Lanty's  long  gun.  The 
two  remaining  varlets  fly  for  their  lives  towards  their 
rear  guard — leaving  D'Arnac  with  an  uninjured  but 
fainting  maiden  in  his  arms,  and  grouped  about  him 
his  party  unscathed  by  combat. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  EMPTY  COACH  ON  THE  MELUN  ROAD. 

"Dieu  merci!  this  finishes  the  affair!"  says  D'Au- 
bigne,  gazing  in  boyish  wonder  at  a  dead  ruffian  he 
has  killed. 

But  it  doesn't! 

The  two  flying  bravos  are  now  with  the  rear  guard, 
making  them  eight  in  number,  and  these  come  on  for 


THE    KING  S    STOCKBROKER.  IOI 

vengeance  and  their  promised  reward — they  cannot 
bear  to  be  balked  of  the  golden  pieces  they  thought  in 
their  very  hands  but  three  short  miautes  before. 

Their  leader,  Geronimo,  the  crafty  Corsican,  points 
out  the  small  number  of  their  enemies,  who  have  only 
won  a  victory  by  surprise. 

These  ruffians  bar  D'Arnac's  return  to  Paris,  and  the 
affair  commences  now  to  have  an  ugly  aspect,  for  three 
or  four  of  them  carry  carbines.  These,  under  their 
leader's  direction,  they  unsling,  and  commence  to  shoot. 

Were  Raymond  unencumbered  he  would  charge  them, 
but,  as  he  looks  at  the  childish  but  beautiful  face  that 
— still  unconscious — is  turned  up  to  his,  and  thinks  this 
trouble  has  come  upon  her  because  she  is  his  promised 
bride,  he  cannot  bear  to  take  any  risk  of  injury  to  her, 
which  may  come  through  some  chance  shot  in  the  mttee. 

Therefore  D'Arnac  orders  his  party  to  retreat  along 
the  Melun  road  until  they  arrive  at  some  farmhouse 
they  can  defend,  or  obtain  assistance,  or  reach  some 
crossroad  by  which  they  can  return  again  to  Paris, 
without  fighting  their  way  through  the  men  who  bar  the 
road  to  the  capital. 

So  they  retire  gradually,  through  the  pleasant  wood 
lands  of  Senart. 

But  this  retreat  makes  their  enemies  more  confident. 
They  come  nearer,  and  the  fire  from  the  carbines  grows 
more  galling,  the  butcher  getting  a  slight  wound  in  the 
leg. 

"Ah!  long  bowls  is  yer  game,"  says  Lanty.  "I  can 
beat  ye  at  it!" 

He  unslings  his  curious  gun  from  his  shoulder, 
and,  deliberately  dismounting  and  taking  a  rest,  fires 
what  his  companions  think  is  a  marvelous  shot,  for  he 
puts  hors  de  combat  a  pursuing  bravo. 

"  What  kind  of  a  gun  is  that?"  asks  Raymond,  aston 
ished. 

"Bedad!  It's  one  I  bought  at  Nuremberg,  in 
Germany.  It's  a  curious  thing — goes  straight  because 
it  takes  a  twist.  Faix !  if  I  was  a  good  marksman  I 
could  kill  them  all  with  it." 

This  makes  their  pursuers  more  cautious.  They  keep 
out  of  shot. 

So    they   pass    through    the   forest    of    Senart,    and 


102  THE    KING  S    STOCKBROKER. 

coming  to  the  more  open  country  the  sun,  which  is 
getting  higher  in  the  heavens,  beams  upon  them  so 
fiercely  that  D'Arnac  fears  the  effect  of  the  heat  upon 
his  charge,  whose  nervous  system  seems  unequal  to  her 
first  experience  of  life  outside  convent  walls. 

They  have  already  seen  some  peasants  going  to  their 
morning  work  in  the  fields;  but  these,  noting  their 
appearance,  fly  from  them.  They  pass  a  little  hamlet, 
the  inhabitants  of  which  bar  their  doors,  despite 
D'Arnac's  entreaties,  who  now  wants  aid,  not  for 
himself,  but  for  the  fainting  maiden.  Apparently  she 
has  been  put  under  the  influence  of  some  sleeping 
potion,  which  has  now  partially  passed  from  her,  leav 
ing  her  semi-sentient,  with  distracted  mind  and  agitated 
nervous  system. 

"  Diable!  no  wonder,"  remarks  D'Aubigne\  looking 
at  Raymond's  butcher  coat.  "You  would  frighten 
anything." 

A  moment  after  they  see  ahead  of  them,  about  a 
quarter  of  a  mile,  a  cross  lane,  which  comes  in  from 
the  east. 

"  Do  you  know  anything  about  it?"  asks  Raymond. 

"  Aye,"  says  Lanty,  "  it  goes  to  the  other  road  lead-' 
ing  from  Paris  by  Brie." 

"Very  well;  we  will  take  it  and  return.  Just  give 
those  fellows  another  shot,"  returns  D'Arnac,  quicken 
ing  his  horse's  gait,  which  is  languid,  as  the  charger  has 
been  kept  on  the  move  all  night  and  has  grown 
sleepy. 

Just  before  he  arrives  at  the  crossroads  he  hears  a 
shot  and  the  Irishman  gallops  up,  crying  exultingly: 
"Be  jabers!  I've  wounded  Geronimo.  His  crowd  are  in 
full  flight." 

"Very  well!  here's  more  good  luck,"  replies  Ray 
mond,  who  has  been  greatly  co'ncerned  about  the  state 
of  the  fainting  girl  in  his  arms.  "Here's  just  the 
thing  for  the  little  comtesse. " 

He  is  looking  at  a  closed  carriage  that  is  turning  into 
the  main  road  to  Melun,  Jrom  the  crossway. 

"Why,"  cries  D'Aubign^,  "  it's  the  same  coach  that 
we  passed  going  out  of  Paris.  You  remember  it — the 
same  sleepy  driver." 

By  this  time  D'Arnac,  riding  hastily,  is  alongside  of 


THE    KING  S    STOCKBROKER.  103 

the  man,  and  the  carriage  being  closed,  he  asks,  "Is  it 
empty  ? " 

' '  Yes, "  growls  the  coachman,  very  sleepily,  ' '  empty — 
don't  disturb  me — I'm  going  to  Melun." 

"  I  engage  your  carriage,"  cries  Raymond.  "  I  hire 
it!" 

Without  more  ado,  he  springs  off  his  horse,  bearing 
Julie  in  his  arms,  steps  into  the  carriage  with  her,  sits 
down,  and  as  he  closes  the  door  of  the  coach  finds 
occupying  the  vehicle  with  him  two  armed  ruffians  and 
a  veiled  female  silent  figure  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
carriage. 

The  bravos  glare  at  him  in  astonishment.  Raymond 
does  the  same  to  them.  Then  one  says,  with  a  hoarse 
laugh,  noting  D'Arnac's  captive  and  his  disreputable 
appearance,  "  Diable !  -You're  in  the  same  business  as 
we  !" 

"Yes  !"  gasps  Raymond.  Then  sudden  inspiration 
coming  to  him,  he  adds  "Who's  your  captive  and  how 
much  do  you  get  a  head  ? " 

"More  than  you  do,"  sneers  the  fellow,  "though we 
don't  wear  quite  so  much  blood  on  our  clothes,  and  who 
invited  you  to  join  our  company  ? " 

"  Myself  !"  answers  Raymond,  affecting  the  French 
of  the  poorer  classes.  "This  coach  I  thought  was 
empty,  and  this  girl  was  fainting.  My  orders  are  to 
get  her  to  Marseilles  alive." 

' '  Mordieu  !  Your  hirers  are  more  considerate  than 
ours.  "They  don't  care  whether  our  trollop  dies  or 
lives,  so  long  as  she  disappears." 

"  You  are  on  special  service,  I  see  ?"  says  Raymond. 
"I  am  one  of  De  Conti's  bravos." 

"So  are  we,"  returns  the  other  man,  and  astonishes 
D'Arnac;  "  but  I  think  our  gold  is  from  a  woman's 
hand.  The  orders  are  so  vindictive.  But  here  comes 
our  captain — you  will  have  to  talk  to  him. " 

Here  D'Arnac  receives  another  shock;  the  car 
riage  is  now  surrounded  by  fifteen  mounted  men, 
who  have  com.e  suddenly  up  from  behind ;  riding  some 
hundred  yards  in  the  rear  of  the  carriage  to  prevent 
pursuit,  they  had  been  hidden  by  a  turn  in  the  cross 
road  from  Raymond's  eyes,  as  he  came  up  to  the  coach. 

"  Tonnerre   de   Dieu !  what  are    you    doing  here?" 


104  THE    KINGS   STOCKBROKER. 

blusters  their  leader,  who  is  mounted  on  a  curiously 
marked  piebald  horse  of  great  speed  and  action. 

'What  you  are  doing,"  answers  Raymond,  "taking 
a  girl  to  Marseilles.  There's  five  hundred  lonis  for 
this  chick."  At  which  Julie,  who  has  partially  revived, 
utters  a  shuddering  moan  and  murmurs:  "Spare  me, 
assassin  !  I  saw  you  kill  him  !"  Which  gives  D'Arnac 
a  very  good  footing  with  his  fellow  cut-throats  at  once. 

' '  Then  we'll  help  you, "  chuckles  the  leader,  ' '  and  take 
half  of  the  reward." 

But  before  he  can  receive  answer  to  this,  a  shot  is 
heard  behind  them,  from  Geronimo's  followers,  who 
have  taken  heart  again  and  come  on. 

At  this  the  captain  of  the  second  band  says:  "We 
are  pursued.  I  feared  so!  We  must  dodge  them  by 
crossing  the  river."  Then  he  calls  to  Raymond, 
"Help  us  drive  them  back!" 

And  D'Arnac  springs  out  of  the  coach,  runs  to  De 
Soubise  and  whispers  instructions  in  his  ear;  that 
gentleman  and  his  companions  having  stood  looking  on 
with  amazed  faces,  awaiting  directions. 

"  Go  back  with  them,  my  dear  Soubise,"  he  says; 
"help  them  drive  back  Geronimo's  bravos.  This 
crowd  is  too  large  for  us  to  fight,  besides  Julie  will  get 
a  rest  in  the  coach.  In  her  state  I  dare  not  put  her  on 
horseback.  We  can  leave  this  party  at  our  leisure. 
They're  not  particularly  interested  in  us." 

While  he  is  speaking  the  veiled  woman's  figure  in  the 
coach  has  turned  to  him. 

As  D'Arnac  had  entered  it,  though  her  hands  are 
bound  and  she  can  make  no  movement,  a  sudden 
nervous  tremor  has  run  with  one  quick  quiver  through 
her  frame.  Her  head  has  been  suddenly  turned 
towards  him  as  he  sits  scarcely  a  foot  away,  and  two 
eyes  gleaming  with  unutterable  amazement,  yet  unutter 
able  hope,  have  blazed  upon  him  through  all  the  heavy 
veiling  wound  round  her  head. 

While  D'Arnac  is  out  of  the  coach  giving  his  direc 
tions  to  De  Soubise,  one  of  the  brutes,  noting  the  veiled 
one's  movement,  has  whispered  in  her  ear:  "  Quiet,  you 
jade.  Try  to  escape  and  I'll  cut  your  throat  from  ear 
to  ear.  Those  are  our  orders." 

Then  Raymond  returns  and  the  coach  goes  hurriedly 


THE    KING  S   STOCKBROKER.  105 

on,  shouts  from  the  rear  indicating  that  Geronimo  and 
cut-throats  number  one  are  probably  now  getting  their 
fill  of  fighting  from  cut-throats  number  two. 

A  moment  after  the  coach  turns  hurriedly  into  an 
other  cross-road,  making  for  the  Seine,  flowing  some 
miles  away;  and,  going  down  a  gentle  descent,  after 
about  half  an  hour  they  reach  a  pretty  little  inn  upon 
the  bank  of  the  river.  The  house  is  of  stone,  two 
stories  in  height,  solidly  built,  with  stabling  fifty  yards 
away,  near  the  river  bank,  also  of  stone. 

Behind  the  building  rises  a  high  limestone  cliff;  the 
auberge  being  apparently  built  in  some  old  quarry  long 
since  disused. 

Just  beyond  the  limestone  the  Seine  flows  deep 
and  silent  between  poplars  and  willows.  Floating 
upon  it  is  a  large  barge  used  in  crossing  the  stream  at 
this  point.  It  is  not  a  regular  ferry  _boat,  but  appar 
ently  constructed  for  the  uses  of  the  inn,  and  capable 
of  carrying  both  men  and  horses. 

D'Arnac  notes  these  things  as  he  springs  out,  for  the 
carriage  has  stopped. 

The  leader  rides  up  again  and  says :  "  We  have  driven 
them  off  for  a  time,  thanks  to  your  comrades — they're 
good  fighters,  my  abductor  with  the  bloody  coat.  How 
many  murders  did  you  achieve  last  night  ?" 

''Par  Dieu!  only  two.  How  many  did  you?"  an 
swers  Raymond. 

"None.  But  we  may  do  one  this  morning,  if  this 
jade  gives  us  any  more  trouble.  We  breakfast  here, 
lads ;  then  cross  the  river  to  the  Fontainbleau  road. 
We  put  her  in  a  caravan  of  vagabonds  at  Fontainbleau. 
What  do  you  do  with  yours  ?  " 

"  The  same  thing,"  replies  D'Arnac. 

"  Very  well,  you  keep  with  us,  and  help  us  out  on 
our  fighting.  We  may  have  more  before  night.  By 
that  time  I  guess  we'll  have  got  her  mixed  in  with  the 
rest  of  them.  They  took  eight  hundred  out  of  Paris 
last  night  for  Marseilles  and  Louisiana.  But  they're 
behind  us.  Besides,  they've  been  gathering  up  peasant 
girls  in  quantities  to  suit.  But  come  in.  Leave  a 
couple  of  your  men  on  guard  outside  and  make  a  merry 
meal." 

"  Man  Dieu  !  what  shall  we  do  with  this  ?  "  says  one 


io6  THE  KING'S  STOCKBROKER. 

of  the  ruffians  in  the  coach,  touching  the  veiled  one  on 
the  shoulder. 

"Oh,  bring  her  in  and  lock  her  up  in  the  inn  !  " 

"  And  if  the  innkeeper  objects  ?  " 

' '  The  innkeeper  won't  object.  Maladetta  !  let  me  see 
the  innkeeper  object,"  cries  the  head  bravo. 

With  that  two  of  the  men  lay  hasty  hands  upon  the 
veiled  figure  in  the  coach,  and  lifting  her  without 
much  ceremony,  half  bear,  half  drag  her  into  the  inn. 

"  D table !  that's  rather  rough  usage,"  remarks  D'Au- 
bigne",  who  with  De  Soubise  and  Lanty  are  standing  by 
Raymond.  "  I  wonder  she  didn't  cry  out  ! " 

"Byrne  soul  !  she's  gagged,"  says  Lanty.  "She's 
got  the  look  of  a  rale  lady,  though  wrapped  up  loike  an 
odalisque." 

"Why  not  rescue  her  ?  "  whispers  D'Aubigne". 

"  Impossible  !  "  says  Raymond,  "  with  the  charge  we 
now  have.  But  I  shall  report  the  affair  to  the  police  in 
Paris."  Then  he  says  suddenly  to  De  Soubise  :  "  See — 
Julie's  reviving.  I  will  get  her  on  my  horse  that  the 
butcher  leads,  and  we  can  leave  those  ruffians  (he 
points  to  the  inn),  cross  the  Seine  and  return  to  Paris. 
Run  into  the  house,  D'Aubigne",  and  see  if  you  can  get 
some  brandy — anything  to  revive  my  charge.  Then 
we'll  cross  the  river  while  the  brutes  breakfast." 

But  even  as  he  speaks,  D'Arnac,  turning  to  the 
coach  to  lift  out  Julie,  suddenly  gives  a  stifled  cry 
and  picks  up  something  from  the  floor  of  the  carriage. 

Then  beads  of  perspiration  gather  upon  his  brow,  his 
eyes  become  excited,  his  face  grows  pale,  his  lips  trem 
ble  as  he  mutters  :  "  My  God  !  "  as  if  astounded,  for 
he  is  gazing  on  the  little  kerchief — that  mass  of  Vene 
tian  point  lace,  with  la  Quinault's  initials  in  the  same 
red  embroidery  upon  it,  the  one  he  had  placed  in  the 
hands  of  little  Jeanne  the  evening. before  at  the  Comedie 
Fran$aise.  He  falters,  with  knitted  brows :  "  What 
does  it  mean  ?" 

Then  something  flies  through  his  mind  like  lightning 
flash. 

"Come,"  says  De  Soubise,  "let's  get  under  way  at 
once  !  " 

"  Impossible  !  "  whispers  Raymond. 

"  Why  not  ?     Your  comtesse  is  reviving." 


THE    KING  S    STOCKBROKER.  107 

"  We  have  now  TWO  to  save  !  " 
"What  other  ?" 

"MY  WARD,    POOR   LITTLE  JEANNE,   OF  THE  FRAN- 
CAISE  ! " 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  DEFENSE  OF  THE  AUBERGE. 

WITH  this  they  call  Lanty  into  consultation. 

"Bedad  !  An'  if  it's  little  Quinault,  she  saved  my 
life  once,  and  she's  welcome  to  it  now  !  "  remarks  the 
Irishman. 

After  short  discussion  they  decide  there  is  but  one 
thing  for  them  to  do.  That  is,  to  take  the  comtesse 
into  the  inn,  revive  her  there,  and  while  doing  so,  ascer 
tain  without  doubt  who  the  veiled  captive  is.  If  it  is  as 
they  fear,  their  plans  for  Jeanne's  rescue  must  be  gov 
erned  by  the  circumstances  of  the  case. 

"Anyway,"  remarks  D'Aubign£,  who  has  returned 
from  the  inn  with  some  spirits,  ' '  a  little  breakfast  won't 
do  us  any  harm ;  the  odor  inside  that  dining-room  is 
delicious  this  morning." 

So  forcing  some  brandy  down  the  girl's  throat  they 
half  carry,  half  support  Mademoiselle  Julie  into  the  inn. 
Apparently  sentient,  at  present  she  says  nothing — only 
looks  at  them  with  frightened  eyes,  for  their  appearance 
is  not  reassuring. 

At  the  entrance  they  are  met  by  the  agitated  wife 
of  the  innkeeper  who  cries  out:  "  God  help  us  !  They're 
bringing  another  beauty  in  !  These  ruffians  will  be 
abducting  me  next  !  They've  got  one  pretty  one 
upstairs,  and  here  comes  another!  " 

This  is  emphasized  by  the  master  of  the  house  stag 
gering  along  the  hall,  his  bottles  clinking,  his  mugs 
spilling  their  contents,  his  knees  knocking  together,  and 
his  face  ashen  with  tribulation  and  terror.  He  opens 
the  door  of  the  dining-room  from  which  oaths  and 
laughter  come. 

The  leader  of  the  party,  seeing  Raymond,  calls  out  : 
"  Come  and  join  us  in  a  friendly  glass  !  " 

"After  I've  secured  my  chicken  upstairs,  as  you've 
done  yours  !  "  answers  D'Arnac. 


io8  THE  KING'S  STOCKBROKER. 

Then  drawing  the  landlady  aside,  he  whispers :  ' '  Take 
good  care  of  this  young  lady;  revive  her  at  once;  put 
her  on  a  couch  upstairs  !  Give  her  something  to  eat  and 
drink,  and  blessings,  not  curses,  will  be  your  reward!  " 
pressing  a  gold  piece  into  the  woman's  hand. 

Its  touch  seems  to  reassure  her,  though  she  still  looks 
on  D'Arnac's  accoutrements  and  butcher  coat  with  dis 
trust  as  she  replies :  "I  can't  put  her  into  the  same  room 
with  the  other.  They've  locked  her  in  and  have  got 
the  key.  Two  villains  are  on  guard  at  her  door,  while 
the  others  are  eating  us  out  of  house  and  home. "  Then 
she  shudders,  "Good  heavens!  they'll  wake  the  comte, 
our  best  customer.  He  never  gets  up  till  nine." 

"  What  comte  ?  "  says  Raymond,  hurriedly,  for  he 
knows  any  respectable  citizen  will  be  an  aid  to  him  in 
this  crisis. 

"  The  German-Irish  comte, "cries  the  woman,  wring 
ing  her  hands.  "The  one  that  pays  ten  livres  a  meal 
and  drinks  champagne  three  times  a  day.  The  one  who 
arrived  two  days  ago  with  two  valets  de  chambre.  The 
one  who  is  good  for  one  hundred  livres  a  day. " 

"What's  the  name  of  your  inn  ?  "  asks  Lanty,  a  sud 
den  wildness  in  his  voice. 

"Le  Cerf  du  Bois." 

•'Bedad!  it's  the  place  !" 

Here  a  door  opens  above,  and  a  voice  cries  very 
savagely  from  the  second  story:  "  Madame  Innkeeper 
— by  the  piper  that  played  before  Moses!  what  is  the 
meaning  of  these  varlets  rousing  a  comte  of  the 
Empire  from  his  morning  slumber?  " 

To  this  D'Arnac  gasps:   "  O'Brien  Dillon!  " 

While  Lanty  shrieks:  "Begorra!  it's  him!"  then 
whispers,  "  I've  been  thinkin' — .  For  the  love  of  God 
kape  those  ruffians  here,  and  I'll  fix  ivery  man  of 'em!  " 
Without  waiting  for  more  words  he  bolts  out  of  the 
house,  and  speaking  hurriedly  to  the  butcher,  who  is 
taking  care  of  their  horses,  the  two  men  mount  and 
hurriedly  gallop  off. 

As  they  do  this  Raymond  is  turning  to  greet  his  old 
comrade  of  the  Rhine. 

But  some  one  is  before  him! 

With  a  scream  and  a  shriek,  Julie,  to  whom  the 
brandy  has  brought  renewed  life,  suddenly  flies  upstairs, 


THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER.  109 

and  seizing  the  arm  of  a  gentleman,  who  makes  his 
appearance  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  sobs:  "  You're  a 
comte — you're  a  noble — for  the  love  of  the  Virgin 
protect  me  from  those  villains  downstairs!  Yes!  that 
one  in  the  green  coat — the  assassin  with  the  blood  on 
him — the  one  I  saw  murder  a  man  half  an  hour  ago." 

"Stand  back!  ye  divil!"  says  O'Brien,  suddenly 
drawing  ready  rapier. 

"You  know  me!  "cries  D'Arnac,  running  upstairs. 

"I  know  ye  for  the  bloodiest-looking  cut-throat  I've 
ever  laid  eyes  on!  "  answers  O'Brien.  "  Varlets,  to  my 
aid!  " 

A  couple  of  stout  German  serving-men  fly  out  to 
him. 

And  on  the  stairs  is  a  very  pretty  impromptu  tableau. 
Julie,  with  her  light,  graceful  figure  outlined  by  the 
robe  of  the  convent,  on  her  knees,  with  upraised  hands 
imploring  the  protection  of  O'Brien  Dillon,  in  shirt  and 
trousers  (for  he  has  hastily  arrayed  himself);  that 
gentleman  turning  very  savage  eyes  upon  D'Arnac,  and 
confronting  him  with  drawn  rapier  and  upraised  pistol! 
Raymond,  with  outstretched  hands  and  beaming  eye, 
and  loving  words — but  damned  as  to  appearance,  by 
the  butcher's  awful  coat. 

"  For  God's  sake  give  me  a  word!  " 

"  Not  till  I've  taken  this  lady  away  from  yer  sight. 
She  trembles  every  time  she  puts  her  pretty  eyes  on  ye !  " 
answers  the  Irishman.  "Don't  take  another  step  up 
the  stairs,  or  there's  a  hole  through  every  man  of  you!  " 
for  De  Soubise  and  D'Aubigne  have  come  hurriedly 
after  Raymond,  both  laughing  at  the  curious  contre 
temps. 

With  this,  the  Irish  gentleman,  bowing  with  the 
courtesy  of  the  old  school  to  Mademoiselle,  says: 
"  Permit  me  to  introduce  myself;  "  then  whispers  into 
Julie's  pretty  ear  a  few  words  that  seem  to  vivify  her; 
next  remarks:  "  You  trust  me  ?  " 

"With  my  life!  I  am  the  Comtesse  Julie  de  Beau 
mont,  the  affianced  bride  of  Raymond,  the  Comte 
d'Arnac,  stolen  last  night  by  these  fiends  from  my 
convent." 

' '  Madame, "  replies  Dillon,  ' '  Raymond  d'Arnac  is  the 
best  friend  I  have  on  earth  or  in  heaven.  As  his 


110  THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER. 

affianced,  you  may  count  on  me  with  my  life  and 
my  honor.  Permit  me  to  conduct  you  to  a  suitable 
apartment." 

And  he  escorts  with  great  ceremony  the  little 
comtesse  to  a  neighboring  room.  As  he  turns  he 
suddenly  cries  to  his  servant  men:  "Blow  a  hole 
through  him  if  he  tries  to  come  up  the  stairs;"  for 
Raymond  has  made  another  step,  and  Julie  has  given  a 
shudder. 

Returning  alone,  O'Brien  says  hurriedly:  "Now, 
butcher  and  murderer,  for  the  little  comtesse  calls  you 
that,  and  that's  what  ye  look  like,  what  do  you  want 
with  me  ?  " 

"  Your  friendship!  "  answers  D'Arnac,  who  has  been 
pondering  over  his  appearance,  "Don't  you  recognize 
me?"  and  he  suddenly  takes  off  the  butcher's  coat  and 
throws  away  the  butcher's  hat. 

Then  Dillon,  with  a  scream  of  astounded  joy  and 
love,  takes  his  comrade  to  his  heart. 

"  By  my  soul!  who  would  have  guessed  you  ?  What 
brought  ye  here  ?  What  is  the  meaning  of  the  little 
girl's  fear  of  ye,  when  she  says  she's  going  to  wed  ye? 
Fear  comes  after  marriage." 

"  For  God's  sake  talk  low.  Let  me  explain!  This 
is  De  Soubise,  of  the  Musquetaires — this  the  Chevalier 
D'Aubigne".  Quick!  where  we  can't  be  overheard. " 

"This  way,"  whispers  O'Brien.  "I  know  this  inn 
pretty  well.  I've  been  here  two  days,"  and  leads 
Raymond  to  a  balcony  running  in  front  of  the  second 
story. 

In  going  there,  they  pass  the  two  bravos  guarding  the 
door  of  the  chamber  in  which  the  veiled  one  is  confined. 
A  smothered  moan  coming  faintly  from  its  portals 
makes  Raymond  hunger  to  fly  at  these  men's  throats — 
but  prudence  compels  patience. 

So  he  follows  O'Brien.  But  the  moan  has  banished 
all  pity  from  his  heart. 

Stepping  on  to  the  veranda,  which  is  covered  by  a 
large  awning  during  the  hot  weather,  made  of  heavy 
canvas,  and  supported  by  rafters  running  from  the 
house,  Dillon's  lips  form  the  word  "Now!  " 

Then,  in  very  cautious  whispers  D'Arnac  tells  briefly 
but  completely  his  adventures  of  the  night. 


THE    KINGS    STOCKBROKER.  Ill 

"Bedad!  another  of  Cousin  Charlie's  wicked  devices, 
for  which  I've  come  back  to  repay  hipi  ! "  returns 
O'Brien. 

"But  how  are  you  here?  Are  you  safe?"  queries 
D'Arnac. 

"Safe?  I'm  in  communication  with  D'Argenson 
himself.  I  am  only  awaiting  the  necessary  papers  from 
me  master,  the  Emperor  of  Austria,  who  has  been 
pleased  to  do  me  great  honor  in  consideration  of  my 
sufferings."  Here  a  shudder  runs  over  O'Brien  Dillon's 
bright  face,  but  forcing  it  away,  he  mutters:  "Soon 
I'll  have  a  glory  from  my  Emperor  that  will  wipe  it  out. 
But  I  can't  explain  now.  The  courier  bearing  my  first 
appointment  lost  the  papers  in  an  avalanche  coming 
through  the  Alps.  I've  sent  by  the  way  of  the  Rhine  to 
have  duplicates  forwarded  to  me.  Until  that  time  I'm 
remaining  here  quietly — happily — forgetting  eighteen 
months  of  despair — but  REMEMBERING  WHAT  CAUSED  IT  ! 
— Now  to  your  affair  !  You  say  you  fear  little  Jeanne 
who  saved  our  lives  is  a  prisoner  in  that  room  ?  " 
Yes.  What  do  you  advise  ?  " 

"  There  are  fifteen  of  those  villains,  all  told  ?  " 

"Yes,  thirteen  below  and  two  up  here." 

"  Then  we  must  take  no  chances." 

"  The  odds  are  pretty  long,  but  we  will  be  reinforced 
in  a  few  minutes.  Lanty  said  he'd  been  thinking, 
— and  rode  off  suddenly  with  the  butcher,"  answers 
Raymond. 

"Then  God  help  us  if  Lanty 's  been  thinking!" 
gasps  O'Brien.  "  There's  no  telling  what  misery  he  may 
bring  upon  us!  Look  at  the  misfortune  it  brought  on 
me!  Look  at  the  damn  billiard  shot!  Ah!  I  won't 
think  of  it.  Only  one  thing — we  must  rescue  the  veiled 
lady — Quinault  or  no  Quinault. " 

So  they  sit  waiting  for  the  Irishman's  return,  Raymond 
dreamily  noting  the  beauty  of  the  scene.  Behind  them 
the  river  flowing  swift  and  silent,  between  green  banks 
broken  on  their  side  by  a  few  limestone  cliffs.  To  their 
left,  down  the  bank,  he  sees  the  little  village  of 
Soisy;  beyond,  the  wood  of  Senart;  among  the  trees, 
the  tower  of  its  old  chateau ;  above  them,  up  the  river 
on  their  side,  Etiolle,  and,  further  on,  St.  Germain;  and, 
in  the  distance,  the  spires  of  Corbeil. 


112  THE    KINGS    STOCKBROKER. 

Suddenly,  dreams  give  place  to  action.  O'Brien 
Dillon,  looking  out  of  the  balcony,  whispers,  hastily: 
"God  help  us  all!  What  has  that  crazy  fiend  been 
doing  ?  " 

For  just  at  this  moment,  Lanty  rides  up  to  the  inn, 
bearing  a  shrieking  girl,  who  is  in  bridal  robes,  followed 
by  a  woman,  screaming  and  tearing  her  hair,  and  pursued 
at  a  distance  by  thirty  or  forty  peasants. 

Springing  hurriedly  off  his  horse,  he  brings  the  scream 
ing  girl  into  the  inn ;  then  flies  upstairs  and  whispers  in 
triumph  to  Raymond:  "  I've  abducted  a  bride  right  out 
of  her  groom's  arms.  Faix!  I'm  afraid  the  butcher's 
cut  off  !  There's  two  villages  up  for  vengeance.  They'll 
murder  every  bloody  villain  of  'em  below!  " 

"  They'll  murder  every  bloody  man  of  us  also — idiot !  " 
cries  O'Brien  Dillon.  Then  he  says,  suddenly:  "There 
is  but  one  way — we  must  separate  ourselves  from  those 
ruffians  downstairs  at  once!  " 

"  What  do  you  propose  ?  "  whispers  Raymond. 

"  Knife  the  two  cut-throats  upstairs  and  throw  them 
down  the  passageway.  We've  got  the  two  girls  up  here. 
Then  we  must  keep  the  stairway  against  the  bravos 
while  the  peasants  slaughter  them  below.  After  that 
perhaps  we  can  make  a  parley  with  the  villagers  and 
obtain  terms.  There's  a  hundred  of  them  coming  now, 
and  more'll  follow.  Lanty's  raised  up  a  hornet's  nest  for 
us  as  well  as  the  bandits. " 

Without  another  word,  acting  with  the  promptitude 
and  barbarism  of  the  soldiers  of  that  day,  O'Brien  Dillon 
and  Lanty  spring  on  the  two  ruffians  on  guard  at  the 
chamber  of  the  veiled  lady. 

These  men  are  easy  victims.  The  arrival  of  the 
shrieking  bride  has  created  a  commotion  below  which  has 
attracted  their  attention. 

In  another  second  they  are  knifed  and  tossed  down  the 
stairway  to  their  astonished  comrades.  Then  one  vigor 
ous  kick,  and  the  door  flies  off  its  hinges  to  Raymond's  foot. 

Springing  in,  he  finds,  half  swooning,  with  bound 
hands,  and  gagged  mouth,  hair  dishevelled,  and  eyes 
which  have  in  them  the  fear  of  death,  poor  little  Jeanne. 
Upon  locking  her  in  the  room,  they  have  taken  from  her 
the  veils  about  her  head,  that  almost  deprived  her  of  the 
breath  of  life. 


THE    KINGS    STOCKBROKER.  113 

Despair  flits  from  her  fair  face,  drawn  with  the  suffering 
of  the  awful  night,  and  hope — divine  hope — takes  its 
place.  Her  bruised  lips  struggle  to  utter  words  beneath 
their  gagas  Raymond  plucks  it  from  her  mouth.  There  are 
tears  in  his  eyes  as  he  unties  the  little  wrists  confined  by 
cruel  cords. 

He  thinks  little  Jeanne  is  trying  to  falter  out  thanks, 
for  her  tongue  is  so  swollen  she  can  hardly  speak ;  but, 
womanlike,  she  is  whispering:  "Who  is  that  girl? 
That  girl  you  carried  in  your  arms  ?  " 

Here  O'Brien  cries  suddenly:  "Quick!  Raymond, 
fight !  No  time  for  love — fight !  " 

In  a  flash  D'Arnac  is  at  the  head  of  the  stairway. 
Jeanne  would  follow,  but  reaching  the  door,  the  sight 
before  her  eyes  makes  her  pause. 

The  ruffians  below  are  crowding  up  the  stairway  with 
hoarse  cries  of  vengeance  for  their  slain  comrades. 

At  its  head  stand  De  Soubise,  Raymond  and 
D'Aubigne — the  boy  a  little  in  front — more  eager;  his 
coat  thrown  off,  his  right  arm  naked  as  his  sabre,  the 
joy  of  battle  in  his  youthful  eyes;  Lanty  and  O'Brien 
leaning  over  the  balustrade  prepared  to  battle  from  the 
side. 

As  they  see  Jeanne,  they  greet  her  with  a  cheer — 
the  boy  crying:  "  I've  seen  you  play  comedy,  little  Quiri- 
ault,  now  see  me  play  tragedy!  " 

Then  with  a  rush  the  bravos  come  on.  D'Aubigne, 
giving  point  with  his  sabre,  spits  the  foremost.  Others 
fall  by  the  pistols  of  O'Brien  and  his  comrades. 

At  the  discharge,  the  leading  ruffians  fall  back,  and 
D'Aubigne",  laughing  in  their  faces,  puts  his  foot  against 
the  body  of  the  wretch  he  has  spitted,  and  kicks  him 
off  into  the  face  of  the  crowd  that  now  rush  up  with 
another  and  more  hideous  yell. 

So  they  come  on — come  on — never  cease  coming  on 
— though  some  are  killed  and  others  wounded.  They 
will  win  by  very  force  of  numbers,  for  though  the 
leading  files  are  slain,  the  others  press  up  and  over 
them.  Soon  there  may  be  but  few  bravos  left,  but 
there  will  be  none  of  O'Brien  Dillon  and  his 
party.  Soubise,  fighting  like  a  tiger,  has  already 
been  struck  down  insensible,  and  D'Aubigne  slightly 
wounded. 


114  THE    KINGS   STOCKBROKER. 

Out  of  the  melee  Raymond  and  Dillon  drag  Soubise 
into  Jeanne's  room.  Then  go  back  to  fight  again. 
While  she,  bending  over  him,  gives  to  this  man  who 
has  risked  his  life  for  her  safety,  the  tender  care  of 
woman's  nursing. 

Then  the  crisis  is  upon  them.  The  two  German 
serving-men,  having  fired  off  their  blunderbusses, 
suddenly  lose  heart  and  jump  off  the  balcony  into  the 
garden  below,  to  be  captured  and  knifed  by  the  peas 
ants  of  the  surrounding  country  that  are  now  flocking 
into  the  grounds  of  the  place,  uttering  savage  cries  of 
vengeance. 

O'Brien  Dillon  has  followed  his  two  flunkies  to  the 
balcony,  calling  to  them:  "  Cowards  !  don't  disgrace 
my  liveries  !  " 

On  the  veranda  a  sudden  idea  comes  to  him.  He 
seizes  one  of  the  beams  that  project  from  the  house, 
supporting  the  awning,  and  with  the  strength  born  of 
his  mighty  travail  in  the  galleys,  the  tremendous  devel 
opment  of  arm  and  shoulder  that  comes  with  that  awful 
toil — he  has  wrenched  it  from  the  building. 

With  this  long  spar,  he  comes  to  the  side  of  the 
stairway  where  their  opponents  are  even  now  making 
a  lodgment,  and  leaning  over  the  balustrade  com 
mences  to  wave  it  about — to  send  it  through  the  air — 
with  the  same  giant  force  he  had  given  to  the  oar  of 
the  galley.  Each  stroke  sweeps  down  the  bravos  that 
are  crowding  up,  crushing  their  heads  and  breaking 
their  limbs. 

One  yells:  "  My  God  !  he's  got  the  strength  of  a 
galley  slave  !  " 

This  recollection  for  one  moment  unnerves  Dillon, 
and  perhaps  would  be  fatal  to  them,  for  the  bravos 
crowded  up  again. 

But  at  this  moment  there  is  a  wild  yell  below.  The 
peasants  have  entered,  armed  with  knives,  sickles,  and 
scythes,  a  few  of  their  leaders  having  swords. 

They  have  fallen  upon  the  bravos  below  and    arc 
massacring  them    and    knifing    them,    man    by   man 
urged  on  by  the  sobbing  bride  in  her  wedding  array, 
and  the  screams  of  her  mother,   who  cries  wildly  for 
Lanty's  blood,  though  she  can't  find  him. 


THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER.  115 

CHAPTER  XI. 

LANTY    THINKS   HE'S   FIGHTING    THE    TURKS. 

THIS  gives  respite  to  Raymond  and  O'Brien.  No 
longer  bothered  by  the  attacks  of  the  bravos,  who  have 
turned  to  meet  the  slaughter  in  their  rear,  they 
strengthen  their  defenses. 

The  little  landing  at  the  head  of  the  stairway  they 
barricade  with  heavy  furniture  grabbed  ad  libitum 
from  the  adjoining  rooms.  In  Dillon's  parlor  they  get 
a  pathetic  glimpse  of  the  Comtess  Julie  on  her  knees 
before  a  crucifix,  telling  her  beads  and  saying  her  pray 
ers  with  the  faith  of  a  child.  Tears  come  into  Ray 
mond's  eyes  as  he  turns  from  her,  thinking  "this  peril 
and  this  terror  are  upon  her  on  account  of  me." 

"Where's  that  divil  Lanigan  ?  "  asks  O'Brien.  "Is 
he  wounded  ?  Where's  Lanty  ?  "  he  raises  his  voice 
anxiously. 

"Coming,  yer  honor,"  cries  the  Irishman,  and  makes 
his  appearance  from  O'Brien  Dillon's  chamber,  carrying 
two  small  stone  jars. 

"  My  heavens  !  The  baste's  been  getting  drunk  on 
me  best  Italian  wine  ! "  cries  the  Irish  count  angrily. 

"  Divil  a  bit !  I  drank  the  wine  as  a  military  neces 
sity;  these  two  bottles  are  now  bombs!  They're  filled 
with  poor  Soubise's  unused  cartridges,  and  those  I  could 
spare  from  me  belt,  with  powder  sprinkled  between, 
their  fuses  are  two  lamp  wicks  rubbed  with  powder. 
It  '11  be  God's  own  blessing  if  they  don't  blow  us  up 
when  we  touch  'em  off  in  case  of  necessity  ! "  says  the 
Irishman,  placing  his  two  implements  of  war  conven 
ient  to  his  hand. 

While  doing  so  there  is  a  yell  of  joy  from  the  peas 
ants  below,  who  have  just  finished  the  last  of  the  bandits, 
and  wild  cries  from  the  mother  of  the  bride,  who  has 
espied  Lanty  on  the  second  story.  She  is  screaming: 
"There's  the  villain  !  there's  the  abductor  that  stole 
my  Annette  from  the  bridegroom's  arms  !" 

"Keep  yer  tongue  quiet,  ye  old  hag!"  whispers 
Lanty  from  the  head  of  the  stairs. 

"  Hag!  "  shrieks  the  woman,  "  Hag!    Ravisher  !  " 

"  Five  girls  were  stolen  from  our  village   last  night, 


Il6  THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER. 

and  now  we'll  have  your  blood!"  cries  the  bride 
groom. 

This  is  greeted  with  a  short,  deep  howl  of  approval 
from  the  peasants  crowding  around  him.  They  have 
wetted  their  Jacques  Bonhomme  fangs  with  blood; 
they  want  more  of  it. 

"Listen  to  me!  I  am  a  lieutenant-general  of 
France!"  beseeches  Raymond  over  the  balustrade. 

"  A  lieutenant-general  of  France!  Oh,  ho!  butcher 
of  the  bloody  coat !"  screams  out  the  man,  a  horrible 
shriek  of  derision  answering  his  words,  as  the  peasants 
charge  the  barricade. 

"  Faith,  nothing  but  killing  will  cure  them,  and, 
please  God,  we'll  give  'em  enough  of  that!"  remarks 
O'Brien,  grimly. 

As  Raymond,  D'Aubigne"  and  Lanty  meet  the  crowd, 
fighting  behind  the  barricade,  cutting  over  it  and 
lunging  through  it  with  their  sabres,  and  firing  their 
pistols  as  opportunity  offers,  Dillon  plies  again  from  over 
the  balustrade  his  awful  beam,  clotted  now  with  blood, 
and  smashes  the  heads  of  peasants  against  a  heavy 
bureau,  part  of  the  barricade  at  the  landing. 

The  stairway  becomes  so  obstructed  with  dead  and 
wounded  that  the  others  cannot  get  past  them.  They 
give  back  suddenly,  dragging  their  wounded  away,  and 
go  into  consultation  out  of  reach  of  the  weapons  of  the 
defenders  of  the  upper  story. 

Then,  in  this  breathing  space,  D'Arnac  and  O'Brien 
examine  the  rear  of  the  inn  for  chances  of  escape. 

Immediately  at  the  back  of  the  auberge  is  a  high,  over 
hanging  limestone  cliff  that  runs  down  to  the  Seine, 
only  fifty  yards  away.  Behind  this  D'Arnac  knows  is 
the  ferryboat.  The  inn  is  apparently  built  on  the  site 
of  some  old  and  disused  quarry,  one  white  limestone 
cliff  coming  close  to  its  rear  windows,  but  rising  above 
them  some  dozen  feet. 

From  that  cliff  they  could  retreat  to  the  boat  and 
place  the  Seine  between  them  and  the  blood  avengers 
below.  But  between  the  inn  and  safety  is  a  gap  some 
eight  feet  wide,  the  limestone  rising  straight  and  sheer 
above  the  window — below  a  fall  of  thirty  feet  upon  the 
rocks. 

To  gain  the  top  of  the  cliff  from  that  window  or  low 


THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER.  117 

roof  is  not  the  leap  of  an  athlete,  but  the  flight  of  a 
bird. 

Two  brick  chimneys  rise,  one  on  each  side  of  the 
window,  but  stop  three  feet  below  the  level  of  the 
cliff.  One  probably  comes  from  the  guest  room  below; 
the  other  from  the  kitchen  of  the  inn.  These,  near 
their  top,  are  connected  by  two  strong  iron  rods,  to 
give  them  greater  stability  and  brace  against  the  wind, 
which  sometimes  sweeps  quite  strongly  down  the  Seine. 

Looking  at  this  prospect,  D'Arnac  shakes  his  head ; 
no  chance  there.  A  fact  of  which  the  leaders  of 
the  rabble  are  so  sure  none  of  their  men  are  on  this 
side  of  the  inn,  though  the  mob  occupy  the  lower  story 
entirely  and  each  minute  brings  reinforcements  to 
them. 

There  are  at  least  one  hundred  of  them  now,  and 
with  a  low  savage  roar  they  prepare  to  charge  the  stairs 
once  more,  to  avenge  their  slaughtered  yokel  friends. 

"We  can't  kill  them  all,"  mutters  O'Brien  gloomily. 

"  Hear  me!"  shouts  Raymond.  "  There  are  women 
above  with  us.  Tg>  give  them  safety  we  will  surrender 
if  you  bring  your  village  priest,  and  he  will  make  oath 
that  you  will  deliver  us  to  the  commandant  or  civil 
authorities  at  Melun." 

"  Yes,"  cry  the  crowd  grimly,  "  we  will  make  oath  to 
deliver  your  corpses  there." 

With  this  the  fight  recommences,  but  grows  so 
desperate  that  at  last  Lanty  whispers:  "Dodge  the 
bomb!"  And  lighting  the  wick  of  one  of  the  stone  jars 
he  tosses  it  into  the  crowd  below. 

As  Raymond  and  his  comrades  throw  themselves 
upon  the  floor  of  the  hallway  a  great  red  glare,  fearful 
explosion  and  stifling  smoke  come  all  about  them.  But 
over  the  deafening  din  rise  groans  of  despair  and 
moans  of  agony  and  shrieks  of  torture  from  the 
wounded.  The  lower  hallway  that  was  crowded  with 
peasants  but  a  moment  before  is  deserted  save  by  the 
dead  and  dying. 

Another  breathing  spell  for  the  defenders! 

But  reinforcements  arrive  again.  The  peasants  know 
some  time  they'll  have  the  blood  of  these  men  above 
who  have  destroyed  so  many  of  their  commune.  It  will 
be  soon  now. 


Il8  THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER. 

"Ah,  what  a  beautiful  bomb!"  cries  Lanty  enthusi 
astically;  then  "whispers  grimly:  "By  me  soul!  unless 
troops  come  soon  little  Marie  will  be  weeping  for  me 
to-morrow." 

To  this  the  others  answer  nothing,  for  the  fate  of 
O'Brien's  serving  men  has  shown  them  the  mercy 
they  will  get. 

"By  Heaven!  we  must  escape!"  mutters  Raymond,- 
growing  desperate  at  the  thought  of  what  may  come  to 
Jeanne  and  the  little  comtesse ;  for  the  Jacquerie  have 
never  been  merciful  to  youth,  beauty  nor  innocence  in 
ladies  from  the  days  when  Captal  de  Bouch  and  Gaston 
de  Foix,  three  centuries  before,  had  to  butcher  them 
by  the  thousands  to  save  the  honor  of  the  beauties  of  the 
French  Court,  crowded  together  in  Mieux  for  safety 
from  these  peasants  as  they  ravished  the  country  side. 

"  The  idea  of  gentlemen  being  butchered  by  these 
canaille!"  snarls  O'Brien,  and  he  looks  again  for  some 
safe  exit  from  the  inn,  D'Arnac  going  with  him.  But 
turn  where  they  will  they  see  no  chance. 

Despairingly  they  even  look  again  at  the  window  and 
the  limestone  cliff  above  it.  Lanty  coming  behind  them 
and  following  their  eyes,  which  have  been  scanning  once 
more  the  chimneys,  suddenly  whispers:  "I've  been 
thinkin'!" 

"  Hang  your  thinking!"  mutters  Dillon.  "See  what 
it's  brought  us  to. " 

"Bedad!  I've  been  thinkin'  about  them  chimneys. 
The  way  ye  used  that  beam  ye  must  have  the  strongest 
arms  and  shoulders  in  the  world.  Couldn't  ye  climb  up 
on  to  the  chimneys  and  those  iron  bars  that  hold  them 
together  and  sling  one  of  us  on  to  the  cliff — the  lightest 
one — young  D'Aubign^?  There's  some  bushes  up  there 
he  could  get  a  grip  on.  One  of  us  there,  this  rope 
ladder  I've  been  making  of  bed  cords  and  bed  slats 
at  odd  times  in  the  fight  will  take  up  the  rest — even 
that  senseless  Soubise. " 

"Sling  a  man  there!  How  shall  I  sling  him?  What 
footing  have  I  on  those  chimneys? " 

"Hang  down  from  the  nearest  of  those  iron  cross 
bars,  by  your  knees.  Then  get  your  feet  under  the  one 
further  from  the  cliff.  That  will  hold  ye.  Then  bend 
over  after  the  manner  of  the  soldiers'  exercise  of  the 


THE    KINGS    STOCKBROKER.  119 

Roman  Cross.  Take  young  'D'Aubigne  in  your  hands 
and  wave  him  about  like  ye  did  the  beam — like  the  oar 
in  the  galleys — No!  I  won't  talk  of  that  to  ye,  because 
that  always  unmans  ye,  Gineral!  But  sling  him  so  that 
his  hands  grip  the  bushes  on  the  other  side." 

"Pardi!  I'll  try  it,"  mutters  O'Brien  determinedly, 
"if  D'Aubigne  will  take  the  risk." 

With  this,  Raymond,  taking  the  place  of  the  young 
man,  who  is  on  guard  at  the  landing,  and  the  affair 
being  explained  to  D'Aubigne^  he  cries:  "I'd  take  the 
risk  a  dozen  times  rather  than  those  knives  that  are 
waiting  for  me  below!  I  only  weigh  one  hundred 
and  thirty-five  and  am  agile  as  a  cat.  Give  me  one 
grip  on  the  shrubbery  and  I'm  up  to  the  top  of  the 
cliff." 

"Then,  for  God's  sake,  quick,"  mutters  O'Brien. 

Climbing  out  of  the  window,  he  ascends  one  of  the 
chimneys,  his  strong  hands  gripping  desperately  its 
sides.  The  shrill  voice  of  the  innkeeper's  wife  coming 
to  him  from  below  makes  him  hurry.  She  is  crying: 
"  Holy  Virgin!  they're  setting  fire  to  my  house!  " 

"Keep  'em  back!"  .whispers  Dillon  to  Raymond, 
talking  very  low. 

Then  D'Arnac  hurries  to  the  stairway,  and  as  the 
crowd  charge  Lanty  gives  them  the  other  bomb,  which 
produces  even  greater  havoc,  for  the  peasants  are  more 
numerous  and  crowded  together.  The  newcomers,  who 
have  not  learned  of  the  slaughter,  have  pressed  to  the 
front,  confident  and  reckless. 

This  explosion  sickens  them.  Once  more  they  give 
back. 

But  while  Raymond  and  Lanty  are  holding  the  stairs, 
the  feat  of  a  Hercules  is  being  performed  at  the  back  of 
the  inn. 

Hanging  by  his  knees  from  one  of  the  bars  running 
between  the  two  chimneys  near  their  top,  the  bar  that 
is  nearest  to  the  cliff,  Dillon  catches  with  his  feet  the 
other  iron  rod,  which  stretches  some  eighteen  inches 
behind  it  and  parallel  to  it,  holding  the  two  chimneys 
together.  Thus  hanging,  head  down  in  the  air,  he 
whispers:  "Give  me  a  pillow  or  folded  blanket,  some 
thing  to  put  under  my  knees  to  keep  the  iron  bar  from 
cutting  into  them!  " 


120  THE    KING  S   STOCKBROKER. 

And  D'Aubigne",  passing  a  blanket  up,  a  moment  after 
hears  O'Brien's  voice  saying:  "Are  you  ready?  " 

"Yes,"  answers  D'Aubigne,  and  clambering  out,  the 
boy  swings  himself  up  to  the  Irishman,  who  lifts  him  in 
his  arms,  and,  turning  him  head  downwards,  catches 
him  firmly  by  each  ankle. 

Then  Dillon  commences  to  sway  D'Aubign6  about, 
his  strong  arms  and  shoulders  working  by  the  power 
given  to  him  by  the  awful  exercise  of  the  galleys — . 
backward  and  forward — a  longer  sweep  each  time — till 
the  young  man's  head  flies  in  the  window,  and  he  has  to 
grip  the  sill  to  keep  from  being  struck  against  it. 

Finally,  O'Brien  gasps  "Now!"  between  clenched 
teeth,  and  with  every  sinew  and  every  muscle  doing  its 
all,  and  a  little  more,  he  swings  the  boy  straight  out 
towards  the  cliff  above,  lifting  him  by  very  force  of 
muscle  above  his  level,  and  D'Aubigne"'s  quick  arms, 
clutching  wildly,  grab  a  strong  bush  growing  on  the 
limestone,  and  he  whispers,  strengthening  his  grip  upon 
a  stouter  branch  above,  "Let  go!  " 

Released,  he  clings  to  the  cliff,  and  getting  footing 
upon  it,  clambers  to  its  top  in  two  seconds  more,  with  a 
panting  "Thank  God!" 

By  this  time  O'Brien  Dillon  is  at  Raymond's  side, 
whispering  :  "We've  done  the  trick  !  D'Aubigne*  is 
on  the  rock.  Back  to  the  room  ! — Get  the  ladder  ! — 
I'll  guard  now  and  nurse  my  legs  that  are  nearly 
broken." 

Acting  quickly,  D'Arnac  throws  the  ladder,  which  is 
about  twenty  feet  long  and  has  been  hastily  improvised 
by  Lanty  from  bed-cord's  and  the  rounds  of  chairs; 
D'Aubigne  secures  the  end  he  catches  to  two  small  trees 
growing  near  the  surface  of  the  cliff,  and  Raymond 
fastens  his  end  securely  to  a  heavy  bedstead  he  drags 
near  the  window  of  the  room. 

As  he  does  this,  Dillon  appears  carrying  Soubise,  and 
followed  by  the  two  girls.  "  Bedad,  I've  got  my  best 
coat,  money  and  papers.  The  canaille  may  have  the 
rest  ! — Now — quick — it's  your  only  way  !  "  he  says 
hastily  to  the  ladies,  who  hesitate,  looking  at  the  height. 
"The  Jacquerie  give  no  mercy  to  ladies."  Then  he  cries: 
"  D'Arnac,  fly  back  and  guard  the  stairs  !  Good  God  ! 
they're  coming  again-!  " 


THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER.  121 

This  Raymond  does,  and  by  happy  inspiration  throws 
an  empty  wine-jug  into  the  crowd  as  they  charge  the 
stairway.  Thinking  it  another  bomb,  they  retreat  in 
horror  from  it. 

A  moment  after  he  is  touched  on  the  shoulder  by 
Lanty,  who  whispers  :  "They're  all  on  the  cliff.  You 
and  I  now  !  " 

Running  to  the  window,  they  clamber  up  the  rope 
ladder,  and  are  assisted  to  the  height  above  by  the  ready 
arms  of  D'Aubigne  and  O'Brien. 

"  Faith  !  we're  just  in  time.  Those  divils  have  set 
the  house  on  fire  !  "  mutters  Lanty.  As  he  comes  up 
the  rope,  smoke  issues  from  the  window. 

"  Quick,  to  the  boat  before  they  discover  us  !  "  whis 
pers  Raymond. 

Urged  by  their  fears,  they  make  short  work  of  the 
descent  to  the  river,  which  is  not  very  steep,  O'Brien 
assisting  the  little  comtesse  down,  who  seems  to  have 
regained  some  of  her  spirits  in  the  sunshine. 

But  Jeanne  declines  Raymond's  proffered  aid,  saying 
briskly:  "  Give  your  hand  to  the  other  lady — she  needs 
more  your  assistance  !  "  and  trips  down  the  incline  with 
light  feet,  though  there  is  a  set  look  in  her  blue  eyes. 

A  minute  after  they  are  all  in  the  boat,  which  crosses 
the  river  attached  to  a  rope  that  is  stretched  from  one 
bank  to  the  other.  It  is  padlocked  to  the  landing-place, 
but  O'Brien  smashes  the  fastening  with  an  iron  wrench 
that  is  used  on  some  of  the  machinery  of  the  boat. 

"  Bejabers  !  that  was  a  scorcher  !  "  says  Lanty,  wiping 
the  perspiration  from  his  brow  and  gazing  at  the  inn, 
which  is  now  blazing.  "  By  all  the  divils  outside  St. 
Peter,  I  havn't  had  such  a  pleasant  morning  since  the 
battle  of  Belgrade.  It  was  as  good  as  fightin'  the  Turks 
— barrin'  the  plunder." 

Then  he  suggests:  "Couldn't  we  get  some  of  the 
horses  in  the  stable  ?  They're  only  ten  yards  away ; 
those  divils  are  all  occupied  with  the  fire.  Just  a  little 
plunder  to  finish  up  the  fun."' 

Raymond  would  check  him,  but  O'Brien  says:  "With 
out  horses  what  would  we  do  for  our  wounded  man  and 
the  ladies  on  the  other  side  ?  " 

Thus  encouraged,  Lanty  sneaks  up  to  the  stables  and 
shortly  comes  down,  leading  four  nags  that  belonged 


122  THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER. 

to  the  bravos  killed  in  the  inn  above;  conspicuous 
among  them,  the  piebald  steed  that  had  been  the  prop 
erty  of  their  leader. 

4 '  Begob  !"  remarks  the  Irishman,  "  our  own  beasts 
were  impossible.  They  were  tied  in  front  of  the 
auberge  and  are  surrounded  by  half  a  hundred  yelling 
carrot-pickers.  I'll  have  a  try  for  two  more  horses  any 
way  !" 

He  would  go  back  again — but  now  there  is  a  cry 
from  the  peasants  about  the  inn.  They  have  discov 
ered  that  their  prey  has  escaped  them,  and  looking 
about  have  noted  the  party  in  the  ferry-boat. 

As  they  run  down  the  hill,  O'Brien,  with  one  vigorous 
shove,  gives  the  barge  impetus  into  the  stream,  and 
D'Arnac,  Lanty  and  D'Aubign£,  working  for  their 
lives,  pull  the  boat  out  upon  the  rope  towards  the  oppo 
site  bank. 

They  have  not  much  time  to  spare,  for  they're  just  in 
deep  water  as  their  pursuers  reach  the  bank. 

Lanty,  unslinging  his  gun,  which  he  still  carries  at 
his  back,  would  fire  upon  them,  but  Dillon  stops  him, 
muttering:  "We've  blood  enough  on  our  hands  now!" 

Then  with  a  sudden  cry  of  triumph,  the  peasants  cut 
the  ferry  rope  leading  across  the  river,  and  reasoning 
with  bucolic  brains,  think  they  have  bagged  their  prey. 

"By  my  soul,"  chuckles  O'Brien,  "if  it  was  the 
rope  on  the  other  side,  they'd  have  us  !  As  it  is,  the 
current  will  sweep  us  across  to  the  bank  to  which  we're 
hitched." 

To  assist  this,  Lanty  and  D'  Aubigne"  put  over  oars  and 
row  now  quite  sturdily. 

'So  they  drift  in  silence,  broken  only  by  the  shouts  of 
disappointed  vengeance  from  their  pursuers;  none  of 
the  party  saying  a  word,  save  Jeanne,  who  whispers 
anxiously  to  Raymond  :  "Is  there  a  revolution  in  Paris  ? 
What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this  fighting  ?" 

"  Don't  you  know  ?"  says  D'Arnac. 

"I  know  nothing — simply  that  I  was  carried  off." 

"How?" 

"  Madame  de  Caylor  and  myself,  after  the  perform 
ance,  as  you  suggested,  sent  out  for  a  carriage.  It 
came,  driven  by  old  Fran9ois,  who  has  taken  me  in 
safety  to  and  from  the  theatre  a  hundred  times.  There 


THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER.  123 

was  some  noise  in  the  streets  as  we  drove  along.  I 
thought  but  little  of  it.  At  my  own  door,  suddenly  the 
carriage  was  surrounded.  Franfois  was  struck  from 
the  box.  Madame  de  Caylor  was  seized  and  put  out 
on  the  pavement.  Two  men  sprang  into  the  carriage. 
I  screamed — oh,  how  I  screamed  !  But  there  were 
other  cries  and  commotion  in  the  street.  I  was  not 
heard. 

"Then  I  screamed  no  more.  The  two  ruffians  had 
bound  me,  gagged  me,  and  wound  a  veil  about  my 
head.  And  then  came  the  long  journey  in  which  I 
despaired,  until — to  my  astonishment — you  stepped  into 
the  carriage  bearing  that  girl. "  She  turns  unpleasant 
eyes  upon  Julie,  who  is  sitting  saying  nothing,  but 
probably  meditating  upon  the  wonders  of  life  outside 
the  convent. 

Then  Jeanne  continues:  "Then  that  awful  fight!  The 
despair — the  bloodshed  of  the  last  hour.  That  man 
is  Colonel  Dillon,  is  he  not?  The  one  who  commanded 
at  Friburg.  I  recognize  him,  I  think,  though  his 
hair  is  slightly  gray — the  friend  you  have  spoken  of 
so  often — the  one  who  disappeared  from  Paris  so  mys 
teriously. " 

"Yes,"  whispers  D'Arnac,  "but  no  word  of  this. 
That  is  still  a  secret  even  from  you." 

"Is  she  still  a  secret — even  from  me?"  whispers 
Jeanne,  again  looking  at  Julie,  who  has  commenced  to 
play  abstractedly  with  her  little  hand  in  the  water 
speeding  by. 

But  answer  is  prevented  by  Lanty  crying:  "Bedad! 
here  we  are,  thank  God!  with  the  river  between 
us  and  the  murdering  brutes  who  treat  inoffensive 
citizens  so  cruelly." 

They  have  reached  the  other  bank  of  the  Seine,  just 
the  distance  below  the  ferry  landing  of  the  rope  that 
swings  them  in  to  the  green  shore  bordered  with 
willows  and  blessed  by  safety. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"WHICH  WOMAN?" 

PUTTING  over  a  plank  they  make  a  landing  in  the 
garden  of  a  farmer,  who,  attracted  by  the  blazing  inn 


124  THE    KING  S    STOCKBROKER. 

and  commotion  on  the  other  bank,  has  been  watching 
the  party  in  excitement  and  fear. 

But  they  assuaging  his  fears  by  a  piece  of  gold,  he 
shows  them  a  path  leading  through  his  little  orchard  to 
a  neighboring  road.  The  horses  being  landed,  they 
place  the  ladies  upon  two  of  them,  little  Jeanne  being 
perched  upon  the  piebald  steed  of  the  leader  of  the 
ruffians  who  abducted  her.  Soubise,  wounded,  but  just 
recovering  consciousness,  upon  another,  Lanty  walking 
by  his  side  and  steadying  him  upon  his  saddle. 

Raymond  leads  the  horse  of  Jeanne,  and  O'Brien 
does  the  same  to  the  nag  of  the  little  comtesse,  who, 
safe  among  the  trees  and  pleasant  hedge  rows,  the 
bright  sun  shining  on  her,  commences  to  laugh  at  her 
picturesque  but  unconventional  appearance,  without 
side-saddle,  and  exhibits  an  astounding  mixture  of 
youthful  vivacity,  convent  naivete,  and  innocence  of 
the  world. 

D'Aubigne  follows  after,  riding  the  other  horse,  and 
singing  merry  chansons;  his  boyish  debonair  voice 
sometimes  trembling,  and  his  lips  growing  pale,  as  he 
thinks  how  near  this  day  has  come  to  snuffing  out  his 
young  life. 

Jeanne  rides  on  in  silence,  her  tongue  still  painful 
from  the  effects  of  the  brutal  gag.  Perchance,  too,  her 
heart  is  heavy  as  she  gazes  at  the  piquant  little  lady 
riding  ahead  of  her,  and  making  a  very  pretty  picture 
in  her  convent  uniform. 

Raymond  trudges  gloomily  beside  her,  not  saying  a 
word ;  partly  because  he  is  very  hungry — partly  because 
he  has  a  furtive  fear  in  his  heart  about  this  meeting 
of  his  fiancee  and  ward. 

Just  here  the  fiancee s  voice  comes  to  him  from 
the  front,  laughing  merrily,  and  O'Brien  Dillon  is 
laughing  with  her,  for  she  has  just  given  him  a  rare 
touch  of  convent  gaucherie. 

"What  a  marvelous  number  of  men  about  here!" 
she  has  babbled  to  O'Brien.  "  I  never  thought  there 
were  so  many  in  the  world !  "  and  opens  her  eyes  in 
innocent  amazement. 

"Not  quite  so  many  after  our  morning's  work," 
answers  Dillon  grimly. 

"Ah,  won't  that  make  the  Mother   Superior   glad," 


THE    KING  S   STOCKBROKER.  125 

cries  Julie  enthusiastically.  "She  says  a  man  is  the 
worst  thing  in  nature — but  I  don't  agree  with  her.  I 
think  an  abbess  is,"  and  she  gives  him  a  little  smiling 
pout,  as  O'Brien  bursts  into  laughter. 

Gazing  on  this  picture  D'Arnac  thinks:  "She  is 
beautiful  now ;  a  little  knowledge  of  the  world  and  she 
is  fascinating." 

Then  Jeanne's  voice,  so  full  of  laughter  at  times,  so 
full  of  music  always — comes  to  him,  and  brings  with  it 
recollection.  He  is  as  the  bird  between  two  ripe  red 
cherries — not  knowing  which  one  to  pick. 

But  la  Quinault  is  saying:  "  What  is  that  ahead  of 
us  ? "  and  a  curious  yet  melancholy  sight  dispels 
introspection. 

They  have  just  come  to  where  the  country  lane 
runs  into  the  Fontainbleau  road.  Along  its  dusty 
path  is  creeping  a  caravan  of  wagons  filled  with  women. 
These  are  surrounded  by  police  and  guarded  by 
mounted  gendarmes. 

Traveling  very  slowly,  the  train  has  apparently  left 
Paris  that  morning. 

Upon  it  both  Jeanne  and  Julie  gaze  in  astonishment 
— perchance  horror — for  some  of  the  women, clothed  in 
the  gaudy  robes  of  their  trade,  are  singing  ribald  songs. 
A  few  of  them — peasant  girls  and  daughters  of  poorer 
artisans — have  a  sad  look  of  despair  upon  their  faces. 

One  cries  to  them  as  they  pass:  "For  the  Virgin 
save  me!  They're  taking  me  from  the  man  I  love  to 
that  far-away  land  where  I'll  die  of  despair!  " 

Another  moans:  "  Mercy!  Exiled  for  the  crime  of 
being  poor!  " 

But  the  police  close  around  them,  and  the  sorrowful 
caravan  passes  on  unmolested ;  some  of  the  wayfarers  to 
commit  suicide  in  despair  at  leaving  their  homes,  their 
friends,  their  France — some  to  die  of  exile  in  the 
swamps  and  bayous  of  Louisiana,  some  to  grace  the 
cabins  of  New  Orleans — none  to  return! 

Gazing  at  this  D'Aubigne  puts  his  hand  to  his  sword, 
but  O'Brien  Dillon  stops  him,  saying:  "Young  fire 
fly,  havn't  you  got  fighting  enough  ?  We've  all  we 
can  take  care  of  without  a  brush  with  the  police. 
And  the  sooner  we  move  the  sooner  we'll  get  to  dinner. " 

Then  taking  the  bridle  of  Julie's  horse,  he  remarks, 


126  THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER. 

with  a  tear  in  his  eyes:  "Bedad!  that's  where  ye 
would  have  been,  little  comtesse,  if  ye'd  not  been 
picked  up  in  the  nick  of  time." 

Catching  these  words,  Jeanne  again  puts  question  to 
Raymond:  "Who  is  she?" 

And  he  answers:     "  I'll  show  you!  " 

Leading  the  steed  of  the  actress  beside  that  of  the 
ettve  of  the  convent,  D'Arnac  raises  his  voice,  and 
taking  off  his  butcher  cap  and  making  his  best  bow, 
remarks:  "Mademoiselle  Jeanne  Quinault,  permit  me 
to  introduce  you  to  the  Comtesse  Julie " 

But  he  gets  no  further,  for  the  convent  school  girl, 
turning  eyes  upon  him  suddenly,  shudders  and  mut 
ters:  "Keep  away!  Assassin!  I  saw  you  murder  a 
man  last  night  as  they  seized  me  at  the  convent  gate! 
I  recognized  you  in  the  moonlight — you  and  that  other 
ruffian  with  the  Irish  face  and  long  gun — the  one  who 
is  laughing  now!"  for  Lanty,  hearing  this,  has  burst 
into  a  guffaw. 

"  You  are  mistaken!  "  mutters  Raymond,  savagely. 

"  Mistaken  ?  Shall  I  ever  forget  that  awful  green 
coat! " 

"Bedad!  "  remarks  Lanty  to  himself,  "she's  got  her 
future  husband  and  the  butcher  mixed  up.  Faix! 
when  she  steps  up  to  the  altar  with  the  Comte  d'Arnac 
she'll  be  thinkin'  she's  marryin'  the  butcher  '  Jacques 
of  the  tripes,'  who,  I'm  afraid,  by  this  time  is  food  for 
the  crows  over  yonder!"  And  he  looks  toward  the 
Seine. 

But  Julie,  turning  suddenly  to  Dillon,  cries:  "Keep 
him  from  me!  I  appeal  to  you  as  a  nobleman,  again. 
If  he  approaches,  I  shall  die  with  fear!  I  like  men 
generally — but  this  man — this  awful  butcher — this  man 
who  stole  me  from  the  convent — keep  him  away!  " 

To  introduce  Jeanne  under  these  circumstances  is  an 
impossibility,  and  Raymond  grimly  drops  back  with  his 
charge,  reflecting  rather  contentedly  that  these 
two  ladies  will  not  make  each  other's  acquaintance  for 
the  present. 

So  they  pass  along  the  dusty  road,  Raymond  and 
Jeanne  saying  little;  though  Dillon  and  Julie,  some 
fifty  yards  ahead,  chat  quite  confidentially.  The  Irish 
general's  soft  voice  and  genial  manner  wins  the  confi- 


THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER.  127 

dence  of  tke  little  comtesse,  which,  she  confesses  to 
him,  has  been  much  shaken  in  man  by  preceding 
events-. 

' '  You  know, "  she  remarks  complaisantly,  ' '  I  thought 
all  men  nice  before  last  night — even  cousin  Bon-bons." 

"  Bedad  !  who's  Bon-bons  ?"  asks  O'Brien,  a  smile 
rippling  his  face. 

"Cousin  Charlie — Monsieur  de  Moncrief — the  Pro- 
cureur  du  Roy,  who  comes  to  visit  me  quite  often  at 
the  convent  to  ask  me  when  I  will  be  married,  and  if  I 
have  seen  Raymond,  and  always  brings  me  bon-bons. 
And  once  he  wished  to  kiss  me.  But  O-ough  !  I  only 
took  the  sweets" 

"  So  Cousin  Charlie  is  very  much  interested  in  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  greatly  so,  and  in  my  wedding,  which  he  says 
should  not  be  over  soon.  But  I  don't  like  that  ;  the 
sooner  I  am  wed,  the  sooner  I  have  fun — the  sooner  I 
am  out  of  the  convent.  Ten  years  I  have  been  there, 
and  in  all  that  time  I  have  seen  but  one  boy — Ray 
mond  ;  and  one  man,  Cousin  Charlie.  The  boy  was 
ugly  and  the  man  was  old,"  she  adds,  with  a  little, 
plaintive  sigh. 

Just  here  they  pass  a  pretty  wayside  auberge.  Dillon 
would  stop  for  dinner,  but  Julie  implores  him  piteously: 
"The  longer  I  am  from  the  convent,  the  worse*  for 
me  !  The  abbess  will  be  crazy  now." 

"Sure!"  says  O'Brien  laughingly,  "you'd  better 
make  a  good  meal  now.  It  may  be  bread  and  water 
you'll  be  getting  when  you  return." 

Here  Julie  astounds  him.  She  says  suddenly  : 
"  What?  Bread  and  water  for  going  to  my  aunt  ?  " 

"  Going  to  your  aunt  ?  "  ejaculates  Dillon. 

"  Yes!  Cousin  Charlie  was  to  bring  Cousin  Raymond 
and  take  me  to  aunt  Clothilde  last  night  at  twelve. 
You  know  her,  perhaps.  She  boxed  my  ears  when  I 
was  young,  because  I  said  Raymond  was  ugly.  And  so 
he  was — almost  as  ugly  as  that  butcher  there  !  " 

At  which  O'Brien,  stifling  a  laugh,  mutters  :  "  You 
— you  thought  you  would  go  to  your  aunt's  at  twelve 
o'clock  at  night?" 

,  "Indeed  I  knew  it.  This  letter  proved  it,"  and 
Julie  puts  her  hand  to  her  pocket;  then  says  sud 
denly  :  "It  must  have  been  taken  from  me  when  they 


128  THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER. 

seized  me  at  the  convent  gate.  But  it  would  make  the 
matter  clear  to  you." 

"You  remember  what  it  said  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  do.  It  was  my  first  love  letter! — and 
said  that  Cousin  Raymond  could  not  come  for  me  till 
twelve  o'clock  at  night,  as  he  had  military  duties  to 
perform  ;  but  if  I  would  meet  him  and  Cousin  Charlie, 
they  would  take  me  to  my  aunt's,  where  I  could  live  in 
luxury  and  ease  until  the  wedding.  //  said  my  wedding 
dress  was  ready  for  me.  Ah,  that  was  joyous  news! 
and  was  signed  '  Yours  till  death!  Raymond-." 

"  And  you  believed  this  peculiar  document  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  did.  Don't  girls  always  believe  their 
first  love  letter  ?  "  prattles  Julie. 

To  this  wisdom  O'Brien  answers  nothing,  and,  think 
ing  the  matter  over,  concludes  it  is  just  as  well  for 
Cousin  Charlie,  and  probably  by  his  instructions  the 
comtesse  has  been  robbed  of  her  precious  first  love 
letter,  which  he  little  doubts  has  come  from  Charles 
de  Moncrief. 

Soon,  chatting  on,  they  arrive  where  the  road 
branches,  and  after  some  inquiry,  learn  one  is  a  cross 
lane  leading  to  Villeneuve  le  Roy,  which  is  scarce  a 
mile  away. 

"Oh,  I  can  see  its  church  spire  through  the  trees," 
cries  Julie.  Then  the  corners  of  her  mouth  droop, 
terror  comes  upon  her,  and  she  gasps:  "The  Mother 
Superior!  Heaven  help  me!  She'll  think  I've  eloped. " 

"  Bedad !  that's  what  ye  did,  didn't  ye  ?  I'll  go  and 
explain  your  case,  little  comtesse,  and  beg  ye  off  if  I 
can.  An  Irishman's  tongue  is  very  smooth,  and 
perchance  a  little  blarney  will  mollify  the  lady  abbess." 

"  Oh,  will  you — will  you — kind  sir?"  says  Julie, 
archly,  "a  comte's  word  will  go  a  great  way  with  her. 
She  believes  in  the  nobility." 

So  O'Brien,  taking  Raymond  apart,  explains  to  him 
what  Julie  has  told  him. 

"Very  well,"  answers  D'Arnac,  "you  and  Lanty 
take  Julie  to  the  convent.  But  what  are  you  going  to 
dc  now  without  baggage — without  servants  ? " 

"But  with  money  enough  in  my  pocket,"  answers 
O'Brien.  ' '  I  shall  take  quarters  in  the  inn  at  Villeneuve. 
It's  a  pretty  place,  and  as  pleasant  for  me  to  wait  as  on 


THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER.  1 29 

the  other  bank  of  the  river.  Give  D'Argenson  my 
compliments.  Tell  him  where  I  am,  and  Lanty  will  go 
into  town  for  me,  and  fit  me  out  again." 

"  Begob,  as  to  money,"  remarks  Lanty,  complai- 
santly,  "I  could  fit  him  out  if  he  was  a  grand  duke. 
I'm  worth  half  a  million  if  I  haven't  lost  it  this  morning. 
I'm  a  speculator  in  the  Rue  Quincampoix,  I  am." 

"  The  deuce  you  say, "  mutters  Dillon.  "Half  a  million 
is  a  very  pretty  sum.  It  beats  fighting  the  Turks. " 
Then  he  turns  to  Raymond  and  questions:  "And  you 
— what  will  you  do?  " 

"  I  see  an  inn  near  by,  on  this  very  road.  We  will 
dine  there — Jeanne,  I  and  D'Aubigne,  and  put 
Soubise  to  bed.  I  shall  leave  D'Aubigne  in  care  of  his 
wounded  officer,  and  take  Jeanne  into  town  this  even 
ing.  We  have  horses  enough  for  that." 

So  they  bid  each  other  good  bye,  Mademoiselle  Quin- 
ault  thanking  Comte  Dillon  for  the  great  service  he  has 
rendered  her — not  only  with  her  tongue,  but  with  her 
eyes,  which  makes  Raymond  wince,  for  she  has  hardly 
been  so  kind  to  him  as  yet. 

Then  Lanty  and  O'Brien  move  away  with  the  little 
comtesse. 

But  as  Julie  disappears  better  spirits  seem  to  come 
to  Jeanne.  She  suddenly  asks  once*  more:  "  Who 
is  she?" 

' '  A  distant  cousin  of  mine, "  answers  D'Arnac,  shortly. 
"  A  cousin,  though  she  doesn't  know  me.  I  rescued 
her,  as  I  did  you,  by  accident — and  received  excellent 
usage  from  you  both.  She  thinks  me  an  assassin,  and 
you  imagined  I  abducted  her,  eh,  Jeanne?" 

'  I — I  don't  know  exactly  what  I  thought,"  she  stam 
mers.  ' '  Perhaps  I  did  think  you  an  abductor — you  were 
in  very  bad  company,  you  know,  and  your  appearance 
now  would  not  acquit  you  before  a  judge." 

With  this  she  laughs  a  little  blushing  laugh — Mademoi 
selle  Quinault's  first  laugh  since  Raymond  d'Arnac  res 
cued  her  this  morning. 

A  few  minutes  after  they  find  themselves  at  a  pretty 
wayside  inn,  nestled  in  a  garden,  protected  from  the 
dusty  road  by  a  straight  row  of  poplar  trees. 

They  have  plenty  of  money,  which  means  hearty 
welcome  and  quick  and  effective  service. 


130  THE    KING  S   STOCKBROKER. 

Soubise  is  put  to  bed,  a  neighboring  doctor  sent  for, 
and  D'Aubigne,  Raymond  and  Mademoiselle  Quinault 
make  a  pleasant  meal  of  it,  at  a  little  table  placed  under 
the  trees;  for  though  tremendously  fatigued  and  very 
sleepy,  they  have  all  immense  appetites,  and  even  Jeanne 
has  now  good  spirits. 

"I  wonder  who  it  is  has  caused  your  adventure, 
Mademoiselle  Quinault,"  remarks  D'Aubigne*  towards 
the  close  of  the  meal.  Then  he  asks  curiously:  "  Who 
can  hate  you  ?  " 

"  Ah,"  cries  Jeanne  suddenly,  "  Perchance  it  is  that 
Duclos,  my  rival!  I  got  four  recalls  the  other  night, 
and  she  but  two.  If  she  has  conspired  at  my  kidnap 
ping,  I'll  denounce  her  in  the  greenroom,"  and 
clenches  her  little  fist  so  savagely  that  her  companions 
spill  their  wine  through  laughing. 

"  Parbleu  !  Stranger  things  have  happened,"  giggles 
D'Aubigne. 

But  Raymond  says  no  word.  He  goes  to  thinking 
the  matter  over.  But  think  as  much  as  he  likes  his 
mind  brings  no  suspicion  to  him — not  even  a  guess; 
though  he  means  to  question  his  ward  further  on  the 
subject  when  they  are  alone,  which  they  are  very 
shortly,  as  they  both  set  out  to  Paris  together,  leaving 
D'Aubigne*  with  his  wounded  officer. 

For  the  purpose  of  this  journey,  D'Arnac  procuring 
for  Jeanne,  with  some  trouble,  a  side  saddle  and  a 
riding  skirt,  places  her  upon  the  charger  D'Aubigne' 
has  relinquished.  He,  himself,  mounts  the  piebald 
steed  of  the  leader  of  la  Quinault's  abductors,  which  has 
too  much  spirit  for  a  lady's  use,  unless  controlled  by 
man's  hand  upon  its  bridle. 

Though  Paris  is  but  eight  miles  away,  they  ride 
slowly,  for  both  are  very  tired,  and  it  is  almost  dusk  as 
they  enter  the  city  by  the  Rue  St.  Jacques,  and  passing 
along  the  streets  St.  Hyacinte  and  De  Vaugirard  come 
into  the  Rue  de  Cond^,  and  pause  in  front  of  Jeanne's 
apartments. 

Within  the  house  they  are  met  by  copious  tears  and 
astonished  exclamations  from  Madame  de  Caylor.  She 
says:  "  I  feared  you  were  murdered!  I  did  not  know 
what  to  think.  I  notified  the  police,  but  they  could 
tell  me  nothing.  Since  then  I  have  cried !  " 


THE    KING  S   STOCKBROKER.  131 

"  What  did  the  ruffians  do  to  you  ?  "  asks  Jeanne. 

''Those  assassins!  those  murderers !  those  abductors!" 
cries  the  duenna.  "  Nothing,  except  to  look  me  in  the 
face  and  say  '  the  pretty  one  is  our  game ; '  then  throw  me 
off  on  the  sidewalk,  and  tell  me  to  go  into  the  house 
or  they  would  cut  my  throat.  I  went  in!"  says  the 
old  lady. 

"You  have  no  hint  or  guess,"  asks  Raymond 
anxiously  of  Jeanne,  "as  to  who  could  have  instigated 
this  outrage  ?  " 

"No,  "replies  his  ward.  Then  she  opens  her  eyes 
suddenly  and  gasps:  "Perhaps  it  was  Lenoir!  He 
loves  me — I  mean  hates  me. " 

"  Bah !"  returns  Raymond,  "Lenoir  could  not  have 
afforded  it.  This  little -adventure  of  yours  has  cost 
somebody  a  good  deal  of  money.  Fifteen  armed  bullies 
do  not  take  their  lives  in  their  hands  for  nothing." 
Then  he  goes  on  grimly:  "If  it  is  a  case  of  payment 
AFTER  the  affair,  we  have  made  it  a  cheap  one ;  none  will 
come  back  to  demand  their  wages.  I  will  think  over  the 
matter.  Steps  must  be  taken  to  thoroughly  protect  you. " 

Here  Madame  de  Caylor  brings  astonishment  upon 
them  both.  She  says  impressively:  "Jeanne,  you 
have  another  gentleman  working  to  that  end— one 
most  powerful!  " 

"  Who — De  Villars  ? "  asks  D'Arnac  eagerly. 

"No,  Monsieur  de  Moncrief.  This  morning  I  went 
with  the  affair  to  him  to  ask  his  aid." 

"Ah,  you  told  others?"  mutters  Raymond,  very 
much  annoyed,  for  he  does  not  care  that  this  adventure 
should  make  Jeanne's  name  more  prominent  than  it 
already  is  on  gossips'  tongues. 

"  Only  to  him,"  replies  the  duenna.  "  He  is  such  a 
friend  of  Jeanne's,  and  as  Procureur  du  Roy  might  have 
an  inkling  of  any  wickedness  going  on.  He  thinks  it  is 
a  woman!  " 

"  Ah  !  what  did  he  say  ?  " 

"When  Monsieur  de  Moncrief  heard  of  Jeanne's 
abduction,  he  commenced  to  cry  out  that  it  was  some 
enemy  of  his — he  takes  so  much  interest  in  her,  admires 
her  beauty,  and  says  she  is  the  grandest  actress  on  the 
stage,  and  should  marry  a  noble,  and  Jeanne  is  always 
so  happy  after  he  says  this  last  to  her." 


132  THE    KING  S   STOCKBROKER. 

"Yes,  Monsieur  de  Moncrief  is  always  very  compli 
mentary,  "  interjects  la  Quinault ;  her  eyes  that  had  been 
languid  with  fatigue,  growing  very  bright,  as  she  has 
caught  the  last  few  words. 

"Humph  !"  remarks  Raymond  grimly,  "what  makes 
you  think  it  is  a  woman  ?  Did  Monsieur  de  Moncrief 
with  the  vanity  of  age  imagine  one  of  his  ballet  girls 
was  jealous  of  la  Quinault  ?  "  and  he  burstsout  laughing 
at  Jeanne's  blushes  and  indignation  —  for  she  pouts: 
"  That  horrible  old  coxcomb  !  " 

"  Oh,  what  a  wondrous  guesser  you  are,  Monsieur  le 
General  !  "  giggles  Madame  de  Caylor,  opening  her 
poetic  eyes.  "  It  might  have  been,  for  when  I  told  him 
he  seemed  stunned — then  muttered  almost  to  himself: 
'  God  curse  her !  Her  infernal  jealousy  will  ruin  me  yet ! ' 
But  after  a  moment's  pause  he  said  in  his  impressive 
way:  '  Say  nothing  to  any  one.  I  will  make  inquiries. 
Talk  might  prevent  my  investigation.  Be  assured  I  will 
do  my  best  to  restore  Mademoiselle  la  Quinault  to  the 
home  she  graces  and  the  theatre  that  she  honors,  my 
dear  Madame  de  Caylor ; '  and  kissing  my  hand  in  his  gal 
lant  way,  Charles  de  Moncrief  escorted  me  to  the  door 
of  his  office." 

"Indeed?"  mutters  Raymond,  and  would  perhaps 
question  further,  but  he  notes  the  fatigue  in  Jeanne's 
eyes  and  attitude,  and  remembers  how  much  she  has 
passed  through  this  day. 

And  he  turns  to  leave,  but  Jeanne  puts  her  little 
hands  upon  his  arm,  saying:  "  I  have  not  thanked  you 
yet.  You  risked  your  life  for  me  to-day.  You  are 
always  doing  something  for  me,  that  I  repay,  I  am 
afraid,  very  badly.  But  I — "  here  she  hesitated  and 
pauses. 

"You,"  laughs  D'Arnac,  "you  did  not  like  the  other 
young  lady;  you  wanted  to  be  rescued  by  yourself 
alone. " 

"  P-p-p-erhaps,"  stammers  Jeanne,  growing  red. 
Then  she  suddenly  cries  with  feminine  solicitude :  "  But 
you  must  have  a  wrap.  The  night  is  growing  very  cold, 
and  your  butcher's  coat,  though  picturesque,  is  not  over 
thick." 

"Pardi!"  answers  Raymond,  "  a  woman's  mantle 
over  a  butcher's  coat;  how  the  boys  in  the  street  would 


THE    KING  S   STOCKBROKER.  133 

enjoy  me  !  But  I  think  I'll  do  very  well.  There  is  a 
cloak  of  some  kind  or  other  strapped  behind  the  saddle 
on  my  horse.  You  have  stabling  near  here.  Send  your 
man  to  see  the  nag  you  rode  is  taken  care  of.  These 
horses  may  give  us  the  clue  to  their  riders — knowing 
the  ruffians  we  may  discover  their  employer. " 

So,  coming  down  to  the  street  again,  he  unstraps 
from  behind  the  saddle  of  the  piebald  nag  a  long  Spanish 
cloak,  which  thrown  about  him,  makes  D'Arnac  very 
comfortable. 

Then  mounting  the  piebald  steed,  he  rides  off  towards 
his  apartments  in  his  sister's  great  hotel  on  the  St. 
Honore,  and  imagines  his  day's  adventure  over. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE   GAMEKEEPER   D'ARNAC. 

BUT  THIS  day  has  not  yet  finished  with  D'Arnac! 

Jostled  in  the  throng  of  the  Rue  Dauphin,  he  thinks 
he  will  avoid  the  Pont  Neuf,  which  is  crowded  at  this 
time  of  the  evening  with  its  hucksters,  its  charlatans, 
and  its  troops  of  promenaders.  The  Pont  Royal  will  be 
almost  as  direct,  and  much  less  crowded.  Besides,  his 
appearance  is  now  so  brigand-like,  it  excites  jeering 
comment  from  the  garfons  of  the  street. 

So  he  turns  on  to  the  more  quiet  Quai  de  Conti,  mak 
ing  towards  the  Pont  Royal,  and  thus  passes  the  little 
open  triangle  in  front  of  the  great  hotel  of  Prince  de 
Conti.  In  it  lounge  a  number  of  lackeys,  hangers-on, 
and  the  class  of  followers  that  bizarre  prince  with  Ital 
ian  habits  always  keeps  about  him. 

As  D'Arnac  jostles  his  way  through  the  crowd  one  of 
these  who  has  been  apparently  watching,  coming  sud 
denly  beside  him,  whispers  in  his  ear:  "  You  got  back 
early  i  Come  with  me  at  once.  She  sent  me  here  to 
await  your  return  and  bring  you  to  her.  She  would 
hear  all  about  it  from  your  own  lips." 

Then  ideas  fly  through  Raymond's  brain.  In  a  flash 
he  remembers  the  remark  of  the  ruffian  guarding  Jeanne 
in  the  carriage,  how  a  woman's  gold  will  pay  for  this. 
Then  he  recollects  he  is  riding  the  horse  of  the  leader, 


134  THE  KING'S  STOCKBROKER. 

a  curiously  marked  piebald  steed;  that  he  wears  the 
leader's  Spanish  cloak — that  the  night  is  dark. 

Will  Providence  in  this  weird  way  give  him  the 
knowledge  of  the  enemy  of  Jeanne  that  he  may  protect 
her? 

As  this  goes  through  his  mind,  not  daring  to  answer, 
for  the  man  may  doubt  his  voice,  he  gives  a  gesture  of 
assent;  and  the  fellow,  making  through  the  crowd,  he 
follows  him,  and  passing  along  the  quai  they  reach  the 
Pont  Royal.  Crossing  the  Seine,  they  soon  find  them 
selves  on  the  Rue  St.  Honore",  and  going  through  one 
of  the  streets  leading  past  the  Palais  Royal,  they  come 
to  the  side  entrance  of  a  large  house. 

Here,  after  some  bandying  of  words  between  his 
guide  and  one  or  two  attendant  flunkies,  D'Arnac's 
horse  is  placed  in  charge  of  one  of  them,  and  the  man 
who  has  acted  as  his  conductor  so  far,  turning  Raymond 
over  to  the  care  of  a  pert  lady's  maid,  he  is  ushered 
through  a  long  corridor,  narrow  and  dark,  at  the  end 
of  which  is  a  doorway  heavily  curtained. 

The  soubrette  says:  "Wait  here,  Spaniard,"  and 
steps  in. 

A  moment  after  he  hears  a  voice  that  makes  him 
start.  "Show  the  man  in,  Rosalie.  Let  me  know  all 
from  his  own  lips." 

These  tones,  though  harsh  with  cruelty  now,  when 
last  they  came  to  Raymond's  ears,  were  soft  with 
"love. 

Almost  unnerved  by  the  revelation  that  now  is  his, 
D'Arnac,  throwing  aside  the  curtains,  finds  himself  in 
a  room  made  graceful  by  art,  and  glorified  by  decora 
tion  worthy  of  a  palace,  and  in  the  presence  of  a  woman 
whom  he  once  thought  the  most  beautiful  on  earth; 
and  who,  in  spite  of  his  conscience,  in  spite  of  his 
fears,  he  still  sees  is  as  lovely  as  Cleopatra  on  her  barge, 
or  Venus  rising  from  the  sea,  or  fairy  dancing  on  the 
lawn ;  for  Hilda  de  Sabran  is  a  mixture  of  the  three. 

She  is  evidently  expecting  some  one — not  a  bravo — 
some  one  more  intimate.  Her  robe  indicates  this,  for 
it  is  a  toilette  containing  every  trick  of  modiste  to  give 
her  beauty  its  full  display  and  charm.  It  is  some  black 
robe  of  gauze,  with  sparkling  glint  of  golden  tinsel, 
from  out  which  arms,  neck  and  bosom  gleam  as  ivory. 


THE  KING'S  STOCKBROKER.  135 

In  it,  to  some  she  would  look  an  angel ;  to  Raymond, 
knowing  her  now  as  she  is — she  seems  a  spirit  of  the 
night,  whose  loveliness  is  made  for  man's  destruction — 
and  woman's,  too. 

As  D'Arnac  gazes,  she  speaks.  Half  reclining  upon 
a  low  couch,  without  turning  to  give  more  than  a  pass 
ing  look,  she  says,  an  awful  longing  in  her  voice: 
"Have  you  succeeded?" 

"Yes, "mutters  Raymond,  very  short  of  his  words  for 
fear  she  may  recognize  his  voice. 

But  successful  malice  is  too  high  in  her  heart  for  her 
to  heed  aught  else.  And  Hilda  breaks  forth  in  a  mocking 
laugh  and  sneering  bitterness:  "  Then  adieu,  my  Quin- 
ault.  You  are  on  your  way  to  another  land !  You  shall 
never  see  your  Paris  more — you  shall  never  see  your 
lover  more !  " 

Then  suddenly  checking  herself,  she  utters  shortly, 
as  if  she  wished  to  terminate  the  interview:  "There  is 
your  money — the  promised  reward  I  have  made  double !" 
waving  one  fair  hand  towards  a  little  table,  where,  among 
its  ornaments,  is  a  little  sack  of  gold. 

But  even  as  she  speaks,  an  eager  longing  to  indulge  her 
cruel  joy  in  the  history  of  the  agony  of  the  woman  she 
deems  her  rival,  comes  to  her  and  will  not  down. 

She  utters  softly,  coaxingly:  "Tell me — all  about  it! 
Tell  me — did  she  suffer — did  she  cry  out  in  despair  ? 
Whose  name  did  she  murmur  when  her  destiny  came 
upon  her — and  she  knew  there  was  no  hope  ? " 

Getting  no  answer,  she  rises,  suspicion  coming  on  her, 
and  looking  at  the  table,  her  face  grows  pale  as  she  mur 
murs:  "Bravo,  you  do  not  take  the  gold.  Why  not  ?  " 

But  the  ruffian  in  the  Spanish  cloak  says  nothing. 

Then  she  bursts  out,  gasping  as  if  in  fear,  panting  as 
if  dismayed:  "  You  do  not  speak — my  God! — you  did 
not  succeed!  Answer,  lackey!  Tell  me,  coward !  You 
missed  your  aim — you  did  not  succeed!  " 

And  she  in  unbridled  rage  would  perchance  foolishly 
assault  with  her  white,  delicate  hands  the  fighting  bravo 
that  her  gold  has  hired.  But  suddenly  the  creature 
that  she  flaunts,  flaunts  her. 

The  ruffian  in  the  Spanish  mantle  throws  it  off,  and 
doffing  the  hat  that  has  been  pulled  down  over  his  face, 
cries:  "  I  did  succeed!  " 


136  THE   KING'S  STOCKBROKER. 

And  she  gasps:  "You— RAYMOND?"  her  eyes 
growing  big  with  astonishment,  perchance  with  terror. 

And  he  says  to  her:  "  I  did  succeed!  Jeanne  is  safe 
from  your  vile  arts.  Safe  in  Paris!" 

With  a  low  gasping  cry  Hilda  covers  her  face  with 
her  hands,  and  sinks  upon  the  ottoman,  as  he,  bend 
ing  over  her,  whispers:  "Why  have  you  done  this? 
Has  she  ever  injured  you?  "  next  pleads:  "Could  you 
not  leave  one  innocent  life  alone? " 

' '  No, "  she  answers  desperately.  Then  her  white  arms 
would  clasp  him,  and  her  eyes,  with  all  their  potent 
charms,  would  allure  him,  as  she  murmurs:  "Because 
— because  you  love  her!  " 

"I?" 

"You  love  her!  Don't  mock  me.  You  visit  her 
every  day.  At  the  theatre  you  warn  off  other  gallants? 
Who  but  a  lover  would  do  this? " 

"A  guardian?"  answers  D'Arnac.  "She  is  my 
ward." 

"  Your  ward — your  mis " 

"Not  that  word,"  commands  Raymond,  in  awful 
voice.  "Mademoiselle  Quinault  saved  my  life,  and  I 
have  given  to  her  the  care  of  gratitude." 

"Then  prove  it!" 

"How?" 

"By  loving  me!"  And  her  voice  grows  soft  with 
living  hope  and  her  eyes  tender  with  subtle  charm ;  for 
in  the  presence  of  this  man  she  always  thinks  she  loves 
him  better  than  the  others. 

She  murmurs,  a  caress  in  every  tone:  "When  you 
have  looked  me  face  to  face  and  eye  to  eye  you 
have  returned  my  love.  Three  times  I  would  have  had 
you  to  my  heart,  but  first  De  Contj's  ruffians — then  the 
treachery  of  Charles  de  Moncrief — then  the  subtlety  of 
Monseigneur  Law — came  between  us,  to  rob  me." 
This  last  in  bitter  voice  and  emphasized  by  wring 
ing  hands.  But  pathos  comes  to  her  again;  she 
sighs:  "Prove  to  me  you  love  me,  and  I  will  spare 
her!" 

"You  shall  spare  her!  "  whispers  D'Arnac  sternly, 
"for  I  will  protect  her — protect  her  as  I  did  to-day 
from  your  hired  bullies — by  killing  them!" 

"•  By  killing  them  /"  she  murmurs.    "  By  killing  them! 


THE   KING  S   STOCKBROKER.  137 

That's  how  you  have  their  leader's  cloak — that's  why 
they  brought  you  to  me." 

Then  her  eyes  grow  luminous  with  admiration  and 
her  voice  becomes  strident,  as  if  she  triumphed  even  in 
his  victory,  though  it  has  defeated  her,  and  she 
laughs:  "Gods!  What  a  fighter  you  are!  I  saw  you 
fight  once — for  me!  Have  you  forgotten  that  day,  as 
you  have  your  love  ? "  Next  she  astounds  D'Arnac, 
crying:  "  To-night  I  am  glad  you  conquered,  for  it  has 
brought  you  face  to  face  with  me.  My  eyes  again  look 
in  yours  to  make  you  love  me!" 

And  to  her  witchery  of  beauty,  she  adds  that  charm 
of  manner  that  makes  men  forget  all  but  her  loveliness, 
and  pleads  as  for  her  very  life,  sighing  :  "You  are  al 
ways  kind  to  me  when  you  are  near.  Look  into  my 
eyes — and  tell  me  that  you  love  me — as  you  did  that 
blessed  day — that  day  I  dream  of  now — that  day  by  the 
blue  waters  at  the  island  near  Marseilles — that  day 
you  kissed  me  and  said  I  should  be  yours — your  very 
own  !  Dost  thou  remember,  Raymond  ? " 

There  are  blushes  on  her  cheeks,  and  radiance  in  her 
eyes,  and  eagerness  in  her  heart,  and  invitation  in  her 
gesture. 

Heaven  knows  what  wondrous  trick  her  beauty  might 
still  play,  DID  HE  NOT  REMEMBER  ALSO.  For  he  replies 
in  tones  that  for  one  moment  give  her  hope  :  "I  do 
remember.  " 

"Ah!     God  be   thanked.  " 

"I  do  remember  the  fate  you  brought  upon  my  com 
rade.  Be  you  assured — I  shall  see  no  like  despair  comes 
upon  my  ward." 

Throwing  the  Spanish  cloak  about  him,  and  pulling 
his  hat  over  his  eyes,  D'Arnac  pushes  the  draperies 
aside,  and  giving  her  the  bow  of  ceremony,  passes  into 
the  long  hallway. 

She  looks  after  him,  in  her  face  unutterable  longing, 
but  dominant  even  over  this,  intense  surprise — it  is  the 
first  time  in  all  her  life  her  charms  have  not  been  om 
nipotent  over  men. 

Even  now  she  can't  believe  it.  The  next  second 
there  is  the  quick  swish  of  silk  and  laces,  and  a  flash  of 
beauty,  as  she  flies  through  the  apartment,  and  running 
after  this  man  who  has  left  her  with  defiance  in  his  voice, 


138  THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER. 

and  scorn  in  his  manner,  she  tosses  away  her  pride  of 
beauty — even  her  pride  of  womanhood.  For  over 
taking  him  just  as  he  reaches  the  little  side  door  opening 
on  the  street,  she  clasps  her  fair  white  arms  around 
him,  their  delicate  flesh  made  strong  by  the  agony  of 
despairing  passion,  and  sobs:  "Raymond,  you  shall 
not  go — my  love  of  loves — you  shall  not  leave  me ! 
Have  I  not  beauty  to  give  you  for  which  men  sigh 
as  for  their  joy  of  life?  " 

"I  do  not  want  it  now.   Remove  your  arms!" 

"Have  I  not  power  to  make  you,  young  as  you  are, 
a  mare"chal  of  France!"  she  whispers  hoarsely. 
"Love  me,  if  not  from  love,  from  ambition.  Give  me 
your  love — or  feel  my  hate.  I  can  degrade  as  well  as 
elevate !  " 

"I  fear  not  the  first,  and  I  reject  the  last!  Take 
your  arms  from  me !  " 

But  this  she  will  not  do,  and  goes  to  begging  him 
for  his  love,  for  this  she  cannot  have  seems  dearer  to 
her  now  than  all  the  world.  And  she  implores  him 
to  forgive  her;  if  she  has  done  wrong  it  has  been  for 
the  sake  of  him;  that  she  has  loved  him  ever  since  he 
pressed  her  to  his  heart  that  day  at  Mieux,  and  cries 
out:  "You  did  not  think  of  your  friend's  fate  then — 
why  think  of  it  now  when  I  am  in  your  arms  ?  " 

Perchance  Hilda  would  do  her  entreating  with  less 
vehemence  and  her  begging  with  lower  voice  did  she 
but  know  that  in  a  neighboring  alcove,  unnoticed  in  the 
dark,  sits  Charles  de  Moncrief,  waiting  to  obtain  audi 
ence  with  her.  He  is  listening  to  her  wild  words,  the 
smile  of  triumph  on  his  senile  face — ineffable  joy  in  his 
abject  soul,  his  ferret  eyes  blazing  with  some  unholy 
glow. 

Into  his  bizarre  mind  has  come  one  thought:  "This 
is  my  victory !  The  victory  of  Cupid  over  Venus !  Venus 
belongs  to  Cupid  now!  " 

But  even  as  he  chuckles  he  grows  pale  and  mutters  to 
himself  :  "  If  the  Regent  discovers  NOW,  I  lose  my 
trick!" 

For,  as  he  has  been  thinking,  the  outer  door  of  the 
house  has  been  unlocked  and  opened  briskly  by  someone 
who  has  a  key,  and  Hilda  de  Sabran  has  started  back 
with  a  low,  warning  cry, 


THE    KING  S    STOCKBROKER.  139 

It  is  Philippe  d'Orleans  who  enters,  unattended,  save 
by  Monseigneur  Law. 

As  the  Regent  comes  in,  Raymond  passes  out,  jost 
ling  against  him  in  the  doorway. 

"  Who  the  deuce  is  this  ruffian  ?  "  says  Philippe,  cast 
ing  eyes  after  D'Arnac. 

' '  Oh !  the  gamekeeper  on  my  new  estate, "  cries  Hilda, 
who  has  an  agile  tongue  for  fibs. 

"Pardieu!  he  looked  more  like  a  poacher!  "  laughs 
D'Orleans,  who,  havingseen  Raymond  but  once  or  twice, 
on  official  ceremonies  and  in  the  full  uniform  of  a.  general 
of  France,  does  not  recognize  him  in  his  butcher  coat  and 
Spanish  mantle. 

"  Oh,  he  is  very  honest,  I  am  told,"  laughs  Hilda. 
"  He  would  not  steal  so  much  as  a  partridge." 

"'Perhaps  not  a  partridge,"  thinks  Uncle  Johnny,  who 
has  the  eyes  of  a  hawk  and  has  made  no  mistake  in  his 
man.  Then  he  gives  a  shudder,  cogitating:  "If  this 
infernal  love  affair  of  Hilda's  come  to  the  Regent's 
eyes — if  he  ever  knows  a  young  gallant  stood  before 
him  instead  of  a  gamekeeper — La  Sabran  might  lose 
her  influence — and  I  have  need  of  it  now.  Just  once 
more — just  for  my  last  grand  coup!"  and  so  determines 
this  intrigue  must  be  stopped  and  ponders  how  to  do  it. 

After  they  have  come  into  Hilda's  boudoir  he  sits  so 
meditative  that  the  Regent  calls  him  "  Silent  Jean," 
and  laughs;  "  what  are  you  musing  on  ?  Is  it  that  old 
comtesse  who  besieges  you  night  and  day  for  shares  ?  " 

" Parbleu  !  there  are  a  hundred  old  comtesses  and  a 
thousand  young  ones.  The  women  beat  the  men," 
says  Monseigneur  Law,  wearily,  at  which  Hilda,  though 
her  cheeks  are  still  pale  at  the  remembrance  of  her 
escape,  bursts  into  a  merry  laugh,  for  she  has  a  reck 
less,  devil-may-care  kind  of  courage. 

"  Then  it  is  the  tobacco  tax  for  which  he  is  always 
begging  me,"  jeers  D'Orleans,  joining  in  Hilda's  mirth. 
"  He'll  get  it  for  his  India  Company  some  time  when  I 
am  harder  up  than  usual.  My  financier  Jean  dreams 
every  night  how  he  will  do  me  out  of  the  tobacco  rev 
enue  of  France.  But  it  is  only  a  little  thing — a  small 
matter  of  a  hundred  millions  a  year,  or  so.  Eh, 
Midas!  How  much  will  you  give  for  the  tobacco 
tax  ? " 


140  THE  KING'S  STOCKBROKER. 

At  this  mention  Law  brightens  up  The  tobacco  tax 
of  France  is  the  last  financial  ban  bouche  he  hungers  for. 
Something  he's  going  to  buy  soon — some  favorable  day 
when  Philippe  has  no  more  money  to  squander  on  his 
mistresses  and  his  routs. 

With  this  they  drift  into  more  general  conversation, 
D'Orleans  telling  Hilda  that  Law  has  come  in  very  des 
pair  to  the  Palais  Royal  this  evening  to  get  away  from 
his  usual  leve'e  of  the  nobility  imploring  him  for  stock. 
"Parbleu!"  he  laughs,  "the  King's  Stockbroker  is 
growing  so  popular  the  Regent  is  dethroned." 

"  '  The  King's  Stockbroker,'  "  echoes  Hilda,  who  has 
not  heard  the  term  before. 

"Yes,  has  not  De  Prie  told  you  ?  "  chats  Phillippe. 
"  His  little  Majesty  yesterday  at  his  Court  of  Versailles 
was  shown  a  new  map  of  Paris.  Examining  it  with 
precocious  air,  Louis  exclaimed  :  '  I  do  not  see  the  Rue 
Quincampoix  upon  it. ' 

"'It  is  there,  Sire,'  answered  Dubois,  pointing  to 
the  street. 

"  '  That  the  Quincampoix  ? '  replied  his  Majesty.  '  It 
is  in  ordinary  ink  !  Order  my  printers  to  put  it  in  gold 
letters !  It  is  the  place  from  which  the  money  comes 
from  my  stockbroker,  with  which  I  buy  my  bonbons — 
good  Monseigneur  Law  !  '  Pardieu !  They  say  De 
Conti,  who  was  standing  by,  grew  pale.  You  know  how 
well  he  loves  the  King's  stockbroker,"  chuckles 
D'Orleans. 

In  his  laugh  Hilda  joins,  but  not  Monseigneur  Law. 
This  hate  of  De  Conti  is  one  of  his  bugbears.  So  much 
the  more  reason  De  Sabran  must  lose  none  of  her  influ 
ence  over  the  Regent  by  reckless  unfaithfulness.  He 
however  forces  himself  to  join  in  the  conversation, 
though  his  gray  eyes,  when  they  meet  Hilda's,  have 
reproach  in  them — perchance  menace. 

But  she  says  carelessly  :  "  Old  gloomy  !  what  makes 
you  so  savage  ?  Has  that  driveller,  Saint-Simon, 
snubbed  you  again  with  his  ducal  rights  ?  "  And  giggles 
in  his  very  face,  for  she  knows  Uncle  Johnny — of  all  men 
— dare  never  tell  tales  of  her.  . 

Upon  her  badinage  D'Orleans  breaks  in,  saying  : 
"  We  came  to  take  you  with  us  to  the  opera.  There  is 
time  for  the  last  ballet.  You  should  see  how  well 


THE   KING  S   STOCKBROKER.  141 

the  theatre  looks  in  the  new  wax  lights  furnished  by 
Monseigneur  Law,  who  gives  us  all  good  things. " 

"  Is  it  a  command,  Sire  ? "  she  asks,  looking  at 
D'Orleans. 

"  It  is  never  a  command  to  you"  he  says  in  careless 
good  nature. 

"  Then,  if  you  will,  please  excuse  me  this  evening — I 
am  tired." 

"  Very  well,"  answers  Philippe,  "  you  will  be  brighter 
for  the  supper  afterwards.  You  will  come  to  my  supper 
party  at  least  ?  " 

"  Is  that  a  command,  Sire  ?  "  she  laughs. 

"  No,  but  an  entreaty." 

"  Which  is  to  me  a  command,"  replies  Hilda,  for  she 
has  a  very  gracious  way  with  this  prince,  whom  she  does 
not  love,  but  who  is  very  kind  and  generous  to  her. 

"Then  it  will  be  not  adieu  this  evening." 

And  the  two  gentlemen  take  their  departure, 
D'Orleans  bowing  over  the  fair  hand  she  extends  to 
him,  and  kissing  it  with  courtly  grace. 

She  listens  to  their  departing  footsteps,  and  sinks 
upon  a  chair  in  careless  attitude,  and  wonders  whether 
this  night  has  made  an  end  of  Raymond's  love. 

But  catching  glimpse  of  her  fair  self  in  a  neighbor 
ing  mirror,  of  which  the  room  has  plenty,  hope  comes 
to  her  and  lights  her  eyes,  and  she  grows  radiant. 

Just  then  one  of  her  women — the  one  De  Moncrief 
has  applied  to  to  obtain  audience  for  him — the  one  he 
has  in  his  pay  (for  Hilda  now  is  cursed  by  the  pomp  of 
state,  and  many  waiting  and  tiring  ladies,  and  some  of 
them  are  bribable) — comes  in  and  asks  her  if  she  will 
see  the  Procureur  du  Roy  ? 

She  answers  sharply:   "No!" 

But  for  reply  gets  Cousin  Charlie's  laugh,  and  the 
woman  passing  silently  out,  Hilda  remarks  in  freezing 
tones:  "  Has  not  old  age  taught  you  good  manners  ?" 

But  he  comes  quickly  to  De  Sabran,  who  gazes  at 
him  with  menacing  eyes;  then  with  audacious  senile 
finger  chucks  her  under  her  fair  chin. 

"What — you  dare  ?  "  she  hisses,  and  rises,  with  one 
white  gleaming  arm  uplifted  to  reach  her  bell  rope.  But 
he  stops  her  with  these  words:  "  I  dare  to  laugh;  of 
course!  I  am  giggling  at — . "  He  comes  close  to  her  and 


142  THE    KING  S   STOCKBROKER. 

whispers  in  her  ear:  "  D'Arnac,  the  gamekeeper!  that's 
what  I'm  giggling  at!  ha!  ha!" 

And  she,  looking  at  him  shudders,  and  tries  to 
mutter:  "What  pleasantry  is  this  ?  " 

"Oh,  ho!  D'Orleans  will  think  it  very  pleasant. 
The  young  gallant,  the  Comte  d'Arnac — the  one  you 
love  the  best  upon  this  earth — comes  in  the  evening, 
disguised  in  humble  clothes — and  you,  putting  your 
arms  about  him — beg  him  for  his  love.  Oh,  this  will  be 
a  merry  tale,  at  which  the  Regent  will  shake  his  sides. 
He's  growing  very  jealous  now,  I'm  told,  and  you  the 
favorite  of  all  his  beauties.  He  may  find  some  excuse 
for  breaking  Raymond  on  the  wheel,  as  he  did  last 
week  to  the  young  Comte  de  Horn,  because  they 
say,  his  second  choice,  la  Parebere,  looked  kindly  on 
him." 

' '  I  have  no  fear  of  Raymond.  Raymond  would 
never  murder  a  poor  stockbroker  like  Comte  de  Horn ! " 
she  mutters. 

"Egad!  he  may  though — one — the  King's  Stock 
broker,"  jeers  De  Moncrief. 

Then  his  tones  grow  strident,  and  he  seems  to 
become  taller  and  tower  over  her,  and  says:  "I  had 
come  to  implore — I  now  come  to  demand! " 

"What?"  Her  face  grows  very  pale. 

"That  you  leave  Mademoiselle  Quinault  alone — 
unharmed!  I  will  not  have  my  plans  destroyed  by 
y®u! " 

"Y-e-s." 

"  I  now  demand  MORE!  " 

"What?"  Her  face  grows  even  paler  now — her  lips 
tremble — anguish  is  in  her  eyes — as  she  meets  his — and 
they  droop  before  them. 

4 '  This !     Think  I  am  a  boy  again  ?  " 

"  Im — imposs — i — ble!  " 

"Love  me!     IMAGINE  I  AM  RAYMOND!  " 

And  his  eyes  grow  luminous,  and  he  utters  senile 
chuckles,  as  she  in  all  her  loveliness  sinks  down  before 
him,  her  hands  uplifted  in  a  silent  prayer,  that  she 
knows,  even  as  she  makes  it,  will  never  be  granted. 
His  eyes  are  too  longing — his  joy  too  great! 

And  gazing  at  the  wondrous  beauty  that  will  now  be  his 
boy  Charlie  jeers:  "What  I  have  waited  for  so  long — 


THE    KING  S   STOCKBROKER.  143 

what  has  been  refused  me  so  often — the  triumph  of 
Cupid  over  Venus!  "  then  chuckles:  "  It  is  a  long  joke 
that  has  no  turning!  " 

Two  hours  after,  at  the  Regent's  supper  party,  sur 
rounded  by  the  perfume  of  flowers  gathered  from 
almost  the  corners  of  the  earth — amid  the  blaze  of 
lights  upon  the  gleaming  shoulders  of  the  fairest  beau 
ties  of  France — amid  the  flow  of  sparkling  wine — whose 
laugh  the  lightest;  whose  bonhomie  the  best ;  whose  wit 
the  brightest  ?  Cousin  Charlie's! 

For  he  is  as  a  boy  again,  and  as  his  gaze  falls  on 
Hilda  de  Sabran,  her  eyes  as  they  meet  his  grow  pite 
ous,  and  her  lips  tremble,  and  her  glance  is  that  of  the 
slave  looking  at  her  lord. 


BOOK  III. 
THE  STRUGGLE  ON  THE  QUINCAMPOIX 


CHAPTER   XIV. 
"THAT  AWFUL  WOMAN  SPECULATOR!" 

THE  EVENTS  of  the  preceding  night  leave  curious 
complications  behind  them. 

Monseigneur  Law,  though  he  has  the  business  of  a 
nation  on  his  hands,  finds  time  to  ponder  over  what  he 
has  seen,  and  decides  to  make  a  curious  appeal  to  Ray 
mond  in  person. 

"  This  inopportune  love  affair  of  Hilda's  must  be 
stopped  at  once,"  he  decides. 

This  being  in  his  mind,  he  writes  a  very  courte 
ous  note  to  Raymond,  begging  he  will  call  upon  him  at 
his  earliest  opportunity,  which  is  sent  by  one  of  his 
hundred  flunkies;  for  now  he  has  almost  kingly  state, 
private  gentlemen  aspiring  to  wear  his  liveries  for  the 
greater  convenience  in  their  stock  speculations. 

This  note  arriving  at  the  Rue  St.  Honore,  creates  a 
sensation. 

D'Arnac  has  just  finished  telling  his  sister  a  portion 
of  his  adventures  of  the  day  before,  when  the  genial 
Mr.  Lanigan  interrupts. 

Making  his  bows,  Lanty  remarks  easily:  "  I'm  just 
fresh  and  breezy  from  the  country  this  morning.  I 
have  come  in  to  get  an  outfit  sufficiently  grand  to  do 
honor  to  Comte  Dillon  and  one  or  two  lackeys  to  serve 
him.  Bedad!  this  morning  I  varnished  his  boots,  and 
it  seemed  loike  the  good  old  toimes. " 

"  You  returned  the  comtesse  safe  to  the  convent  ? " 
Usks  Mimi,  hurriedly. 


THE    KING  S   STOCKBROKER.  145 

"  Safe  as  a  trout  to  her  native  stream,  though  she 
didn't  seem  to  wag  her  tail  so  happily  as  fishes  do  on 
reaching  water.  Sure!  the  poor  little  girl  put  up  a 
frightened  face  as  Dillon  led  her  in  to  the  awful  Mother 
Superior.  But  the  general  has  an  Irishman's  tongue, 
and  oh  !  the  blarney  the  comte  poured  out  upon  the 
abbess,  who  had  been  in  a  mortal  fright  all  day  at  the 
loss  of  her  charge,  and  had  been  telling  her  beads  since 
early  morning.  She  was  just  about  to  notify  ye — and 
frighten  ye  to  death — when  we  popped  in  upon  her.  But 
when  she  forgave  the  little  comtesse,  ye  should  have 
seen  how  Mademoiselle  Julie  plucked  up  spirits.  Faix! 
Monsieur  Raymond  ye'd  have  cried  yer  eyes  out 
laughin'  if  ye'd  heard  her  description  of  ye  as  the 
butcher  that  abducted  her.  Begob  !  if  she  recognizes 
you  at  the  altar,  heaven  help  the  bridegroom.  We  found 
the  letter — the  precious  epistle  that  we  think  Cousin 
Charlie  wrote — just  outside  the  convent  gate.  If  ye'd 
give  this  to  Monsieur  d'Argenson,  sure  I  think  it  would 
add  to  the  little  girl's  safety." 

"  Which  I  will,"  says  D'Arnac. 

"  At  once  !  "  cries  Mimi. 

So  taking  coach,  Raymond  and  Lanty  drive  to  the 
office  of  the  Lieutenant-General  of  Police,  where 
D'Arnac  explains  the  affair  to  D'Argenson,  presenting 
Comte  Dillon's  compliments,  and  giving  him  notification 
of  his  change  in  locale. 

Lookingover  this  note,  the  policeman  remarks  grimly: 
"  I  think  we  have  the  old  fox  Moncrief  on  the  hip. 
Fortunately,  you  did  not  kill  all  of  his  bravos.  I  have 
my  hand  on  one  of  them  now — Geronimo,  the  Corsi- 
can." 

That  worthy  ruffian  being  sent  for,  such  a  representa 
tion  of  his  affair  is  made  to  him  that  he  gives  D'Argen 
son  all  the  information  that  he  wants. 

And  in  the  course  of  time,  report  of  this  matter  being 
made  to  D'Orleans,  it  rouses  him  to  great  rage  against 
Charles  de  Moncrief,  for  the  Regent  is  very  angry  at  the 
manner  his  edict  has  been  carried  out.  He  mutters 
savagely  :  "Abducting  an  heiress  from  a  convent — 
sacrilege!"  And  would  make  short  work  of  the 
Procureur  du  Roy  were  he  not  at  present  too  valuable 
to  Monseigneur  Law. 


146  THE   KING'S   STOCKBROKER. 

So  Philippe  simply  dockets  this  affair  and  waits  until 
De  Moncrief  is  no  longer  useful ;  then  he  will  call  him 
to  account. 

But  unconscious  of  this,  Cousin  Charlie  goes  skipping 
about  the  street,  as  if  a  second  boyhood  had  come  to 
him,  reasoning:  "  Now  is  my  run  of  luck  !  My  fortune 
already  fine  shall  be  colossal  !  La  Quinault  is  safe  from 
the  revenge  of  De  Sabran.  She  is  an  ambitious  little  puss, 
and  aspires  to  my  cousin  Raymond's  hand  in  marriage 
— an  impossibility  !  By  the  ambition  of  the  actress  I 
will  destroy  this  marriage  of  D'Arnac  that  would  rob  me 
of  the  estates  I  long  for — under  the  will.  Little  Jeanne 
is  my  trump  card  for  that  !  " 

Coming  back  from  his  interview  with  D'Argenson, 
D'Arnac  is  received  by  Mimi,  a  curious  excitement  in 
her  bright  face.  She  says  :  "  Two  notes  for  you.  One 
from  Jeanne — the  other  left  by  a  gentleman  in  waiting, 
from  the  Comptroller  of  Finance." 

"  From  Law  !  "  mutters  Raymond,  astounded. 

"  From  Uncle  Johnny  !"  ejaculates  Lanty,  who  has 
followed  close  behind. 

Opening  the  first  oJ  these,  D'Arnac  reads  : 

I  thanked  God  and  you  last  night  for  protecting  me.  I  am 
well — though  of  course  not  quite  myself.  As  you  attend  to  all 
my  business  affairs,  I  venture  to  suggest  that  you  will  not  for 
get  to-day  is  the  date  of  issue  of  the  third  shares  of  the  India 
Company.  Please  get  my  stock  for  me.  Lanty  (if  he  has 
returned)  will  do  the  struggling  with  the  crowd  as  he  has  done 
before. 

This  matter  being  mentioned  to  the  Irishman,  he 
remarks:  "  Bedad  !  it's  a  fine  business  La  Quinault 
picks  out  for  me  !  It  would  take  ten  giants  to  fight 
through  the  crowd  at  the  India  Company  to-day.  A 
lot  were  killed  in  the  crush  last  time,  and  now  there'll 
be  a  hundred — the  excitementi  is  growing  so  divilish 
and  intense.  But- I'll  do  my  best  for  little  Jeanne  and 
myself.  I  have  stock  also.  Perhaps  that  other  note  is 
something  about  it." 

Raymond,  opening  Monseigneur  Law's  communica 
tion,  returns,  knitting  his  brows:  "I  cannot  under 
stand  it !  " 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asks  Mimi,  anxiously. 

"  Jt  is  simply  a  most  courteous  request  that  I  shall 


THE    KING  S    STOCKBROKER.  147 

call  on  him  forthwith  at  his  office,  and  apologizing  that 
he  cannot  come  to  see  me,  as  he  has  the  finances  of  a 
nation  on  his  shoulders." 

"A  private  appointment,"  cries  Lanty.  "That  will 
do  the  business  of  the  stock,  without  me  risking  me  life 
to  get  it.  Get  mine  also.  I'll  get  ye  the  proper  vouch 
ers.  Please  do  it  !  I  mayn't  come  out  of  the  crowd 
alive,  fightin'  man  though  I  am  !  " 

' '  Very  well, "  says  D'Arnac,  ' '  we'll  go  together ! " 

He  would  step  out  to  the  carriage  again,  but  Mimi 
beckons  him  back,  and  whispers:  "  Be  very  cautious 
with  this  Monseigneur  Law.  No  matter  what  wrong 
he  may  have  done  your  comrade,  don't  take  up  O'Brien 
Dillon's  quarrel.  That  gentleman,  I  imagine,  will 
soon  be  strong  enough  to  fight  his  own  battles — to 
work  his  own  revenge.  Be  cautious  what  you  say. 
Remember  you  are  going  to  meet  the  brightest  intellect 
in  this  country — perhaps  in  the  world." 

Thus  warned,  D'Arnac  steps  into  his  carriage,  Lanty 
remarking  as  they  drive  along:  "Be  St.  Patrick  !  it'll 
be  the  making  of  yer  fortune,  Gineral.  If  he  gives  ye 
five  minutes'  interview  ye  can  borrow  a  million,  and  if  he 
gives  ye  twenty  minutes'  private  talk  the  usurers  on  the 
street  will  lend  ye  the  earth.  A  duke  waits  six  hours, 
and  only  gets  two  words  with  him.  Ye've  never  been 
on  the  Quincampoix  ? " 

"  Never  but  once — the  day  I  crossed  it  to  your  caba 
ret  to  arrange  about  Dillon's  leaving  for  Vienna." 

"Sure  then  ye've  been  losing  the  fun  of  yer  life. 
It's  the  world's  battlefield.  Some  men  fight  for  honor 
and  glory,  and  others  fight  for  money ;  and  when  ye  see 
'em,  ye'll  think  those  that  fight  for  money  fight  the 
hardest  !  " 

But  they  can't  drive  into  the  Rue  Quincampoix — the 
crowd  there  would  block  a  cavalry  charge.  There  is 
not  space  enough  for  surging  men  and  women. 

"Begob!  there's  not  room  enough  for  fleas,  let  alone 
horses  and  carriages,"  remarks  Lanty,  philosophically. 

Dismounting,  they  finally  force  an  entrance  through 
the  struggling  throng  from  the  Rue  aux  Ours  that  has 
been  set  apart,  by  royal  edict,  for  the  nobility ;  those  of 
commoner  clay,  arriving  on  the  same  general  battle 
ground  by  the  Rue  Aubry-le-Boucher. 


148  THE   KING'S   STOCKBROKER. 

Here  they  see  a  sight  the  like  of  which  Raymond  has 
never  seen  before,  and  as  he  struggles  with  the  jostling 
crowd  hopes  he  will  never  see  again. 

One  solid,  squeezing,  writhing,  fighting  mass  of  men 
and  women  struggling  to  force  their  way  up  to  and  into 
the  offices  of  the  India  Company;  for  it  is  the  day  of 
the  third  issue  of  the  shares,  and  a  thousand  livres  pre 
mium  is  bid  for  them  now,  even  before  they  are  circu 
lated. 

But  Monseigneur  Law's  servant  is  in  front  of  them, 
and  his  liveries  give  them  a  little  advantage.  Finally, 
in  the  course  of  half  an  hour  of  squeezes,  of  crushes,  of 
prodding  with  elbows  men  who  curse  them  in  even 
unknown  tongues  (for  so  many  nationalities  have  come 
to  Paris  to  struggle  for  gold  that  the  place  is  like  the 
Tower  of  Babel),  by  taking  advantage  of  every  little 
swaying  of  the  crowd,  they  reach  the  private  entrance, 
which  is  not  so  densely  thronged,  and  finally  gain  the 
private  reception  room  of  that  great  company. 

This  they  find  full  of  the  noblesse  of  France. 

Princes  are  gesticulating  like  stockbrokers,  and  bid 
ding,  and  crying  for  privileges.  And  comtesses  and 
duchesses,  who  have  thrown  away  rank  and  etiquette, 
are  jabbering  to  each  other  in  the  jargon  of  the 
street,  bidding  for  "daughters,"  "granddaughters" 
and  "mothers,"  and  puts  and  privileges  with  as  much 
vivacity  and  vigor  as  any  other  bulls  and  bears. 

In  this  throng  great  favor  is  shown  to  Raymond. 
The  Comte  d'Arnac's  name  is  no  sooner  announced 
than  a  gentleman-in-waiting  says,  with  a  profound  bow: 
"  Monseigneur  Law  will  see  you  sir,  at  once." 

Dukes  who  have  been  waiting  by  the  hour,  and 
princes  who  have  been  cooling  their  elbows  from  six 
o'clock  in  the  early  morning,  begging  for  a  minute's 
interview,  look  with  envy  upon  D'Arnac.  One  man,  the 
Prussian,  Versinoble,  whispers  in  his  ear:  "  I'll  give 
a  half  million  livres  for  the  information,"  as  the 
door  opens  and  Raymond  gets  audience  with  this 
man  of  men — this  Colossus  who  can  make  other  men 
rich. 

Cousin  Charlie,  who  is  one  of  the  directors  of  the 
India  Company,  and  has  the  privilege  of  entry  behind 
its  financial  doors,  whispers  to  Raymond  as  he  passes 


THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER.  149 

along  the  hallway:  "  Oh,  ho!  cousin — a  speculator 
also!" 

"Yes,"  says  Raymond,  "a  little.  Besides,  I'm  look 
ing  out  for  Mademoiselle  Quinault's  interest." 

"Oh!  she  is  rich,  I  understand.  She  will  have  a 
glorious  dower  when  she  weds,"  remarks  the  Procureur. 

But  D'Arnac  passes  on  and,  the  door  being  opened, 
steps  briskly  into  the  sanctum  of  Monseigneur  Law, 
who,  rising  hurriedly,  gives  him  so  cordial  a  greeting 
that  it  surprises  the  young  man. 

"  I  hardly  thought  you  would  remember  me,"  replies 
Raymond.  "You  have  not  seen  me  since  Marseilles." 

"  But  once,"  whispers  Lass,  "  last  night!  " 

And  his  tone  is  so  significant  that  D'Arnac  under 
stands  very  well  to  what  he  alludes,  as  the  financier  goes 
on  hurriedly:  "It  is  in  regard  to  that  I  have  asked  you 
to  do  me  the  honor  to  visit  me. " 

"  Indeed?"  says  Raymond,  forcing  himself  to  smile. 
"I  am  glad  you  see  me  in  a  better  coat." 

"  I  am  very  glad  the  Regent  did  not  recognize  you  in 
masquerade,"  returns  Uncle  Johnny,  who  has  appar 
ently  made  up  his  mind  to  frankness. 

"Pooh!"  laughs  Raymond,  lightly.  "I  could  soon 
have  explained  to  his  Highness  that  it  was  an  accident 
which  robbed  me  of  my  uniform." 

"An  accident  that  sometimes  happens  to  gallants," 
sneers  the  financier,  his  eyes  growing  keen  and  search 
ing;  for  he  thinks  it  is  to  be  a  battle  of  artifice  between 
himself  and  Raymond. 

"  Yes,"  iterates  D'Arnac,  "  an  accident.  And  as  you 
have  come  to  the  point  with  me,  I  will  be  equally  frank 
with  you. "  A  nd  he  tells  in  a  very  few  words  to  the  gentle 
man  who  stands  gazing  at  him  astonished,  his  advent 
ures  of  the  day  before — except  those  connected  with 
his  visit  to  De  Sabran. 

Lass  listens  to  him,  his  brow  clouded,  and  finally 
mutters:  "  These  police  outrages  under  my  edict  will 
cause  the  common  people  to  hate  me.  But  this  makes 
my  request  to  you  so  much  the  more  timely.  I  wish  to 
make  an  appeal  to  you  to  give  up  something  that  I  pre 
sume  you  hold  very  dear;  not  as  a  gentleman — though 
I  might  do  it  on  that  account — but  as  a  patriot — for  I 
know  you  love  France!" 


150  THE    KING  S    STOCKBROKER. 

"An  appeal  to  me — for  what?"  asks  Raymond, 
astounded  in  return. 

"An  appeal  to  you  to  give  up  the  love  of  a  lady  with 
whom  you  once  eloped.  Whom  you  were  to  have  met 
one  evening,  had  not  her  husband  returned  from  Vienna 
to  take  your  place — whom  you  would  have  met  again 
at  Marseilles,  had  I  not  prevented  it.  Of  an  affair  that 
I  believe  that  you  are  now  continuing — to  the  injury  of 
France.  Of  course  it  is  a  gentleman's  privilege  to 
deny  such  things — but  before  you  do — let  me  call  your 
attention  to  certain  facts." 

With  this  Monseigneur  Law  continues:  "You 
know  the  financial  state  of  this  country  when  I  came 
here — bankrupt.  You  see  the  wondrous  change  to-day 
— that  France  is  the  mistress  of  the  world — because  she 
is  the  mistress  of  its  pocketbook;  gold — not  armies, 
makes  power  upon  this  earth — for  without  gold  no 
armies  can  exist.  The  longest  purse  wins  the  battle 
between  governments." 

Then  he  explains  to  Raymond  the  glorious  future  he 
has  mapped  out  for  France.  How  by  her  colonies  she 
shall  become  strong.  That  the  riches  of  the  New 
World — of  the  Indies  and  the  Canadian  fur  trade — shall 
flow  in  upon  her. 

"Now,"  he  says,  "will  you  be  the  one  to  thwart  me?  " 

In  this  appeal  John  Law  shows  perhaps  more  subtlety 
of  intellect,  more  power  of  judging  his  man,  than  in 
many  another  more  complicated  and  important  action 
of  his  life;  for  he  has  guessed  D'Arnac  loves  his  country 
and  his  country's  honor. 

He  had  brushed  O'Brien  Dillon  out  of  his  way,  for  he 
knew  no  such  appeal  made  to  him  against  his  own  per 
sonal  honor  as  a  husband  would  have  been  listened  to 
for  a  moment. 

He  will  put  D'Arnac's  passion  aside  by  an  appeal  to 
his  patriotism — to  his  .love  for  the  glory  of  his  native 
land. 

"Now,  will  you  stand  in  the  way  of  France?"  he 
asks. 

"I — "stammers  Raymond,  "what  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  I  mean  that  if  Hilda  de  Sabran  loses  her  influence 
over  Philippe  d'Orleans  (as  she  will  if  he  but  hears  of 
her  assignations  with  you)  that  I  no  longer  will  have 


THE   KINGS   STOCKBROKER.  151 

influence  over  him  to  obtain  the  edicts  that  I  wish  for 
the  glory  of  France." 

"And  your  financial  aggrandizement,"  returns  Ray 
mond  grimly. 

"There  you  are  mistaken.  I  have  gained  some 
wealth,  of  course — but  it  is  a  little.  Where  I  have 
made  millions,  others  have  made  ten  millions — and  it  is 
this  fearful  greed  that  is  this  country's  greatest  danger. 
Where  I  have  added  one  million  by  legitimate  capital, 
to  the  India  Company,  its  greedy  speculators  on  the 
street  have  made  it  ten.  If  they  bid  up  these  stocks 
too  high — some  day  there  will  come  a  fall — and  when 
ruin  comes  upon  them  they  will  not  forgive  me.  But  if 
they  do  not  anticipate  me  too  much,  if  they  give  me  a 
little  time  to  develop  and  build  up  the  growing  colonies 
— sordid  as  they  are — the  wealth  of  the  India  Company 
will  equal  their  greed,  and  France,  in  her  territories, 
shall  dominate  the  world.  See,  I  have  opened  my  hands 
to  you.  Be  equally  candid  with  me." 

"1  will! "  returns  D'Arnac.  "I  have  no  love  for 
Hilda  de  Sabran! " 

"Impossible!" 

"I  once  thought  that  I  loved  her,  but  now  I  know 
her,  and  her  treachery.  My  passion  is  of  the  past. 
Last  night  I  came,  not  to  sue  for  her  love,  but  to  tell 
her  that  if  she  did  not  spare  Jeanne  Quinault  I  would 
not  spare  her." 

With  this  D'Arnac  goes  on  and  tells  the  astonished 
financier  all  that  had  passed  between  him  and  De  Sabran, 
and  concluding,  says:  "  Protect  Mademoiselle  Quinault 
from  the  arts  of  the  mistress  of  the  Regent,  and  you 
have  nothing  to  fear  from  one  who  does  not  love  her. " 

While  he  has  been  speaking,  the  gray  eyes  of  the  man 
to  whom  he  has  whispered  this,  gaze  searchingly  at  him. 

As  he  finishes,  the  financier  says:  "  I  believe  you!  " 
and  utters  a  sigh  of  relief. 

Then  he  adds  suddenly:  "I  will  protect  Mademoi 
selle  Quinault!  Be  assured  I  shall  take  such  steps  that 
no  further  danger  shall  come  to  your  ward. " 

"  On  your  head  be  it!  "  answers  D'Arnac. 

"With  pleasure,"  returns  Law,  his  face  lighting  up. 
Then  he  goes  on,  almost  laughingly:  "Now  that  busi 
ness  is  over,  can  I  not  do  anything  for  you  financially? 


152  THE   KING  S   STOCKBROKER. 

"Yes,"  answers  Raymond;  "you  can  prevent  my 
getting  crushed  to  death." 

"  What,  you  have  shares  in  the  India  Company?" 

"No;  but  Mademoiselle  Quinault  has,  and  I  act  for 
her!  also  for  another  friend  of  mine.  Here  are  the 
vouchers.  Would  you  not  kindly  pass  with  me  to  your 
office,  and  see  the  stock  is  issued  that  they  call  for?" 

"With  pleasure,"  replies  Law,  and  the  two  pass 
through  the  hallway,  the  financier  going  into  the  main 
office  of  the  bank,  where  hundreds  of  clerks  are  strug 
gling  to  satisfy  the  demands  of  the  surging  crowd,  from 
the  onslaughts  of  which  a  great  barricade  of  timber  has 
been  erected ;  otherwise  the  counter  would  be  scaled  and 
the  clerks  would  be  overwhelmed. 

After  a  few  minutes  the  great  financier  returns  with  the 
two  packets  of  stock,  hands  them  to  Raymond,  and  says; 
"  If  I  can  be  of  service  to  you  by  my  advice — it  is  yours ! " 

"  Buy  something?"  laughs  Raymond. 

"  Not  now,"  whispers  the  great  man.  "  Their  greed 
is  overreaching  them.  There  will  be  a  fall.  I  am  glad 
of  this,  though  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  That  is 
the  work  of  my  friends,  the  Brothers  Paris,  who  think 
they  are  ruining  me.  They  do  not  guess  I  pray  to 
heaven  each  night  that  the  India  stock  will  not  go  up." 

Even  as  he  speaks  there  is  a  roar  among  the  surging 
crowd  outside;  news  has  come  to  them  from  the 
brokers  on  the  street  that  the  stock  of  the  India  Com 
pany  is  falling.  And  men's  faces  grow  a  little  anxious 
— perchance  a  little  pale — but  not  as  pallid  as  they  will 
before  night. 

For  it  is  the  inauguration  of  the  first  great  bear  raid 
in  the  history  of  the  Paris  Bourse — the  one  engi 
neered  by  the  Prince  de  Conti,  D'Argenson  and  the 
Brothers  Paris,  the  company  in  opposition  to  that  of 
Law,  called  ' '  The  Anti-System. "  And  from  their  offices 
in  the  Rue  aux  Ours  (appropriate  name  street  of  the 
bears)  they  have  sent  forth  their  heelers  and  their 
brokers  to  destroy  the  credit  of  the  India  Company 
and  sell  its  stocks  down  till  ruin  comes  upon  all  who 
have  bought  on  margins. 

So  now  worse  rumors  come  from  the  market,  and 
women  begin  to  cry  and  shriek  and  tear  their  hair,  and 
men  to  curse,  at  which  Monseigneur  Law  says:  "  Look 


THE   KING  S  STOCKBROKER.  153 

at  that  woman — look  at  her  tearing  her  hair.  This 
is  my  little  revenge  for  the  misery  she  has  caused  me. 
That  woman  pursues  me  by  day — by  night — in  my 
office — in  my  home — in  even  my  chamber — the  awful 
woman  of  the  Quincompoix!  " 

Following  Monseigneur  Law's  eyes,  Raymond  starts 
in  astonishment;  for  a  woman  with  business  mien  and 
fearful,  ferocious  eyes,  and  wildly  gesticulating  um 
brella,  is  uttering  cries  of  horror,  which  D'Arnac 
nearly  returns,  for  in  that  dread  female  speculator  he 
sees — his  Aunt  Clothilde,  the  Comtesse  de  Crevecceur. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BROKERS. 

BUT  Raymond  has  little  time  for  horror.  One  of  the 
wild  glances  of  Clothilde  catches  him.  He  is  behind 
the  counter  of  the  bank  talking  to  Monseigneur  Law, 
and  a  sudden  joy  comes  into  the  widow's  greedy  heart 
— the  wild  hope  of  a  sure  tip  on  the  market. 

With  the  strength  of  a  virago  she  forces  her  way 
through  the  crowd,  and  bending  over  the  counter, 
reaches  out  a  fat  hand  and  grips  D'Arnac  by  his  coat-tail, 
then  whispers:  "Raymond,  my  nephew!  Raymond! 
for  the  love  of  God  ask  him — are  they  a  buy  or  a  sell  ?  " 

But  even  before  D'Arnac  can  reply  a  hoarse  roar 
goes  up  from  the  throng,  and  there  is  a  cry  outside 
that  the  India  stock  has  gone  down  a  thousand  livres  a 
share  at  a  jump. 

With  one  despairing  shriek — "My  margins!  Holy 
Virgin!  my  broker  may  sell  me  out!  "  Clothilde  fights 
her  way  through  the  surging  crush,  punching  with  her 
umbrella  right  and  left  ahead  of  her;  and  careless  of 
the  imprecations  and  curses  that  greet  her  enforced 
passage,  disappears  on  her  way  to  the  street,  the  crowd 
heaving  like  storm-tossed  waves  about  her  and  engulf 
ing  her. 

Monseigneur  Law  chuckles  in  Raymond's  ear:  "Go 
out  and  see  the  fight — this  battle  of  financiers.  It  will 
be  worse  than  the  battle  of  soldiers." 

"  Pardi!  then  you  have  the  self-control  of  a  great 
general,"  returns  D'Arnac,  gazing  on  the  face  of  the 


154  THE  KING'S  STOCKBROKER. 

financier,  which  is  cold  and  pitiless,  a  smile  curling  his 
mobile  lips,  his  grey  eyes  above  them  quiet  as  the  sea 
before  the  squall. 

Taking  his  advice,  Raymond  steps  out,  and  on  the 
stairs  meets  Lanty. 

"  Have  you  seen  what  has  become  of  my  aunt  ?"  he 
asks,  concern  in  his  voice. 

"Ah,  don't  bother  yer  head  about  her,"  replies  the 
Irishman.  "Faix  !  she's  well  able  to  take  care  of  her 
self!  Askin'  your  pardon  for  mentioning  it,  some  call 
her  '  the  badger'  on  the  street,  she's  got  such  an  appe 
tite — for  money.  She  did  old  Papillon  out  of  ten  livres 
a  share  on  fifty  '  darters '  he  sold  her  the  other 
day." 

Not  particularly  pleased  with  this  description  of  his 
relative,  D'Arnac  tufns  his  eyes  about,  looking  for  his 
aunt,  and,  to  his  relief,  sees  her  fighting  her  way  down 
the  street  towards  the  offices  of  the  great  brokers.  He 
can  see  her  easily  now,  for  the  crowd  is  not  so  thick 
in  front  of  the  India  Company;  perhaps  they  do 
not  hunger  so  much  for  the  new  issue,  now  that  the 
parent  ones  are  falling. 

"  Would  ye  like  to  see  the  notables  of  the  street?  " 
gossips  the  Irishman,  proud  of  his  knowledge.  "There's 
Dures  Leriche  talking  to  Farges,  they've  both  made 
sixty  millions.  That's  Andre  and  by  my  soul,  here's 
our  curiosity,  Quasimodo  Junior,  the  chap  who  rents  his 
hump  back  to  write  contracts  on.  Do  you  spot  him  ? 
And  there's  old  Papa  Chambrey;  I  call  him  papa 
because  he  has  such  a  nate  article  of  a  darter. 
Mayhap,  she'll  have  a  nate  dower  also  !  " 

But  a  hoarser  roar  comes  up  from  the  crowd.  Again 
the  India  stock  has  fallen. 

"Come  with  me  to  me  broker,"  mutters  Lanty.  "  If 
this  diviltry  goes  on  there's  no  telling  where  I'll  land 
meself  to-night.  Perhaps  in  a  jail — perhaps  in  a  mad 
house."  For  the  stock,  as  well  as  they  can  judge  from 
the  conversation  about  them,  has  gone  down  five  hun 
dred  livres  more. 

So  they  hurry  along  the  street,  impeded  by  the  crowd, 
in  which  Raymond  thinks  he  sees  every  familiar  face  in 
Paris,  for  in  this  battle  for  wealth  courtiers  jostle  trades 
men  and  princes  haggle  with  courtesans. 


THE    KING  S   STOCKBROKER.  155 

Gaston  Lenoir  brushes  past  clothed  in  the  liveries 
of  Monseigneur  Law,  which  he  has  taken  to  facilitate 
his  entrance  to  the  Bank  Royal  and  offices  of  the  India 
Company. 

Poetical  Monsieur  Voltaire  is  there,  smiling  his  sar 
castic  smile.  He  says  lightly  to  Raymond:  "Eh, 
Comte,  have  you  come  here  to  see  this  comedy 
/^humane  ? " 

"Begob!"  answers  Lanty,  "I  suppose  you  mane 
making  an  inhuman  profit  out  of  stocks.  That's  what 
you  like  best  I  believe,  Mr.  Poet." 

But  Lanty's  humor  freezes  in  him  now.  As  they  get 
near  the  main  offices  of  the  brokers,  from  the  cries  of 
the  throng  that  are  buying  and  selling  and  fighting  and 
screaming,  they  discover  the  India  stock  has  broken  again. 

It  has  fallen  to  6,000  livres  a  share,  and  the  affair 
now  takes  a  threatening  aspect. 

The  faces  about  them  grow  pale,  for  nearly  all  have 
bought  for  a  rise !  Stocks  have  been  going  for  the  last 
six  months — up — up — higher  and  higher,  and  lately  no 
one  has  ever  dreamed  of  a  decline. 

But  down  goes  the  market! 

Securities  are  thrown  overboard  right  and  left,  and 
now  the  quotation  falls  to  5,000  livres  a  share — 3,000 
decline  since  the  morning. 

There  are  faint  cries  from  despairing  women;  and 
men  who  have  been  fat  grow  thin  with  anguish  at  their 
losses. 

Raymond,  looking  carelessly  on,  hears  a  deep  sigh  at 
his  elbow,  and  turning  sees  the  perspiration  rolling  from 
Lanty's  face,  that  had  been  ruddy  but  is  now  pallid  with 
anguish — even  terror.  This  Irishman,  who  had  risked 
losing  his  life  and  limb  in*  many  a  pitched  battle,  with 
devil-may-care  recklessness,  trembles  as  he  fears  he'll 
lose  his  money. 

"  God  of  Heaven!"  he  gasps,  "  my  margins!  If  that 
little  Hollandaise  broker,  Van  Tamn,  sacrifices  me,  I'll 
lose  the  '  Turk's  Head  Inn,'  my  Cabaret,  and  me  chance 
of  winning  Marie."  Then  he  whispers  suddenly:  "Wait 
for  me!" 

"Where  are  you  going?" 

"To  my  broker.  I'll  kill  him,  by  the  God  of 
Heaven!  if  he  sells  me  out!" 


156  THE   KING'S   STOCKBROKER. 

With  this  wild  cry  Lanty  disappears  in  the  throng, 
making  his  way  towards  a  sign  that  Raymond  reads : 


VAN    TAMN, 

Dealer  in  Securities  and 

Leaner  of  Money. 


D'Arnac  would  follow  him,  but  as  he  presses  on  a 
crowd  gathered  about  a  fainting  woman  impedes  him, 
and  seeing  her  face  he  grows  pale  himself.  It  is  his 
Aunt  Clothilde. 

He  whispers:  "Is  she  dead?" 

"No.  Fainted  when  the  stock  fell  to  5,000.  But 
there  will  be  deaths  to-day,"  says  one  man  desperately. 
"  That  infernal  Law  has  tricked  us  all." 

And  others  mutter:  "Curse  the  financier  who  has 
ruined  us!" 

Aided  by  some  few  Samaritans,  for  even  in  this  crowd 
of  Mammon  there  are  some  who  have  not  left  humanity 
behind,  D'Arnac  gets  the  fat  and  fainting  Clothilde  into 
what  had  once  been  a  cobbler's  shop,  but  is  now  rented 
at  enormous  rate  to  one  or  two  speculating  brokers.  In 
this  place  he  props  his  aunt  upon  a  chair. 

Then,  seeing  outside  in  the  street  the  great  doctor  of 
the  Regent,  Monsieur  Cheval,  he  hurries  to  him  and 
whispers:  "One  of  your  patients,  my  aunt,  the 
Comtesse  de  Crevecceur  is  fainting  in  that  shop." 

"  Don't  keep  me  from  my. business!"  cries  the  man 
of  medicine  to  him  severely.  "  Don't  you  see  they're 
ruining  me  here?"  And  he  bids  wildly  for  some  of  the 
stock,  which  is  promptly  sold  to  him,  to  his  great 
disgust.  For  now  the  quotation  falls  below  5,000  livres  a 
share. 

"  Come  to  your  patient!"  whispers  D'Arnac  hoarsely. 

"  I  can't.     It  will  be  my  ruin!"  whimpers  the  doctor. 

"  It  will  be  your  death,  if  you  don't!  Do  you  suppose 
I'll  let  you  juggle  here  with  my  aunt's  life  hanging  in  the 
balance?  Come!"  And  his  athletic  hand  closes  upon 
the  collar  of  the  disciple  of  Esculapius,  and  he  drags 


THE    KING  S    STOCKBROKER.  157 

him  nolens  volens  into  the  cobbler's   store;  then  says 
sternly:  "Do  your  duty  by  your  patient. " 

Kneeling  by  Clothilde's  side,  this  man  of  medicine 
(who  is  thinking  now  but  of  Mammon)  feels  her  pulse 
with  trembling  hands,  and  the  roar  of  a  declining  mar 
ket  coming  from  the  street  drives  him  distracted.  He 
suddenly  cries  in  agitated  voice:  "Oh,  my  God  !  it 
falls — it  FALLS  ! — it  FALLS  !  " 

At  this,  Clothilde,  who  has  partly  recovered,  whis 
pers,  the  fear  of  death  upon  her:  "  My  pulse  falls  !  Oh,, 
doctor,  my  pulse  falls,  Mon  Dieu  !  I  am  dying.  Help 
— the  priest  !  " 

And  he  snarls:  "  Hang  your  pulse.  It's  the  stock  of 
the  India  Company.  It's  4,500  livres  a  share." 

This  awful  quotation  acts  better  than  a  tonic  on  the 
nerves  of  the  woman  speculator.  She  staggers  up,  a 
desperate  look  in  her  eyes,  and  whispers:  "Raymond 
— for  God's  sake — if  you  want  me  to  live  through  the 
day,  go  to  that  villain  Law — you  have  his  ear— and  beg 
him,  in  the  name  of  a  woman  whose  fortune  he  has  ruined, 
to  tell  you  the  truth." 

"  Did  the  '  villain  '  ask  you  to  buy  these  securities  ? " 
jeers  Raymond. 

^Yes,  he  did  !  " 

"How?" 

"They  all  said  they  would  go  up,  and  the  scoundrel 
Law  did  not  deny  it,"  cries  Clothilde  with  feminine 
unreason.  "  Find  out,  if  my  stocks  are  held,  whether 
they  will  recuperate. "  And  she  begs  in  piteous  tones: 
"  Raymond,  ask  him  for  the  love  of  God  !  " 

"Remain  here,"  answers  D'Arnac,  sternly,  "that 
canaille  crowd  is  no  place  for  the  widow  of  my  uncle. 
Don't  leave  this  office  !  "  And  he  departs  on  his  errand. 

But  this  is  what  Clothilde  can  not  do.  The  quota 
tions  ringing  in  her  ears  from  the  street  outside  are 
horrible.  The  parent  stock — the  mgther — is  being 
offered  at  4,400  livres  a  share — misery !  It  is  sold  down  to 
4,300 — despair!  Then,  can  she  believe  her  ears?  4,200. 

Flesh  and  blood  can  not  stand  this — at  least  Clo 
thilde's  can't,  and  she  flies  out  upon  the  street  again, 
with  haggard  eyes  and  dishevelled  hair,  imploring:  "For 
the  love  of  God  spare  the  mother  !  Don't  sell  the  mother 
so  low,  gentlemen  !  Spare  the  mother  !  " 


158  THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER. 

At  this  a  hideous  snicker  comes  up  from  the  crowd. 
But  still  the  stock  goes  down,  and  the  battle  of  the 
street  becomes  more  awful  in  its  despair  and  agony  of 
greed. 

Brokers,  who  can't  force  their  way  into  the  crowd, 
hang  out  of  second  story  windows,  and  sell  their 
customers'  securities  from  this  point  of  vantage;  while 
some  of  their  clients  implore  them  with  tears  in  their 
eyes,  from  the  street  below,  to  spare  their  stocks  and 
.not  to  ruin  them. 

As  for  Raymond,  forcing  his  path  along  the  Quin- 
campoix,  after  a  little  he  gains  the  offices  of  the  India 
Company,  but  here  is  informed  to  his  consternation 
that  Monseigneur  Law  has  left  them. 

"Where  ?" 

An  officer  of  the  company  with  pale  face  and  trem 
bling  limbs  (for  the  crowd  surging  about  the  offices  are 
now  very  threatening)  fortunately  has  seen  D'Arnac 
closeted  with  the  financier  this  morning.  He  suggests 
in  whispers  that  the  Comptroller  is  probably  at  his  own 
house  in  the  Place  Vendome. 

Filled  with  his  errand,  D'Arnac  bolts  out  of  the 
Quincampoix,  and  luckily  getting  a  voiture  on  the  Rue 
St.  Denis,  drives  to  the  great  house,  or  rather  palace, 
of  the  Director  of  Finance. 

Before  its  doors  is  gathered  anothtr,  perhaps  a 
greater,  throng,  begging  and  imploring  to  see  this  man 
who  holds  their  fortunes  in  his  hand.  Some  are 
muttering  threats ;  but  these  are  made  in  undertones,  as 
there  is  a  company  of  soldiers  on  guard  about  the 
building  and  every  entrance  is  heavily  sentried. 
Uncle  Johnny,  knowing  the  fickle  nature  of  his  public, 
has  taken  his  precautions  accordingly. 

His  rank  in  the  army  giving  him  entry,  Raymond 
after  a  fierce  battle  with  elbows,  hands  and  feet, 
reaches  the  reception  room  of  the  great  man.  It 
is  filled  with  imploring  princesses,  demanding  dukes, 
begging  comtesses,  and  struggling  barons,  together 
with  a  few  of  the  great  speculators,  who  have  suc 
ceeded  in  getting  in  to  beg  for  just  one  word  with  Mon 
seigneur  Law,  and  cry  out  in  agony  when  they  are  refused. 

As  D'Arnac  approaches  the  entrance  to  the  private 
apartments  of  Monseigneur  Law,  which  is  guarded  by 


THE   KING'S   STOCKBROKER.  159 

twelve  soldiers  with  fixed  bayonets  and  loaded  guns.,  he 
thinks  he  will  have  but  little  chance  of  interview.  '  A 
gentleman-in-waiting  has  just  announced  to  the  Mar 
quise  de  Prie:  "I  am  very  sorry,  your  ladyship,  but 
Monseigneur  Law  says  an  interview  will  be  impossi 
ble  for  six  hours.  He  has  the  cares  of  the  nation  on  his 
shoulders." 

"But  my  little  stocks — my  poor  little  stocks!" 
implores  the  vivacious  Madeline,  tears  in  her  bright 
eyes ;  ' '  What  shall  I  do  ?  What  shall  I  do  ?  " 

"  Wait!  "  answers  the  officer  of  the  financier.  "Wait!" 

As  the  pretty  Marquise  turns  away,  D'Arnac,  getting 
the  ear  of  the  official,  begs  to  be  announced. 

A  moment  after  the  gentleman-in-waiting  astounds 
the  crowd  by  proclaiming:  "  Monseigneur  Law  will  see 
General  D'Arnac  for  one  minute. " 

Raymond  rushes  hurriedly  through  the .  guard,  pur 
sued  by  the  envious  looks  of  all  within  the  room,  and  one 
lady,  the  beautiful  Locmaria,  screaming:  "I  will  see 
him  too.  How  dare  he  keep  me  waiting!  "  tries  to 
force  her  way  after  Raymond ;  but  the  crossed  bayonets 
of  the  soldiers  stop  her. 

D'Arnac,  more  fortunate  is  ushered  by  bowing 
flunkies  into  the  private  office  of  the  great  man,  and 
stares  astonished ;  for  this  gentleman,  whom  he  had  sup 
posed  would  be  closeted  with  the  Regent  and  the  great 
officers  of  the  bank  and  treasury,  is  coolly  seated  at  a 
very  exquisite  dejeuner  ct  la  fourchette,  and,  apparently 
between  courses  is  studying  intently  some  pharo  combi 
nation  that  he  will  use  upon  the  coming  evening,  to  the 
despair  of  his  adversaries  at  cards. 

"Will  you  join  me,  General  ?"  says  La^  pleasantly; 
"though  I  believe  I  sent  word  you  could  have  only  a 
minute.  That  was  for  the  benefit  of  the  crowd  outside. 
They  are  rather  anxious  for  me,  I  imagine,  some  for  my 
money,  others  for  my  blood,  eh!  D'Arnac?  But  sol 
diers  have  quick  appetites.  Sit  down  and  tell  me  what 
you  want,  as  you  eat." 

Then  he  looks  curiously  at  the  young  man  and 
laughs:  "  Is  it  a  hint  on  stocks  ?  " 

"Yes,   just  one  word,"  answers  Raymond.      "My 
aunt — that  awful  woman  of   the   Rue   Quincampoix — 
(here  a  sickly  gleam  comes  into  the  financier's  eyes) 


l6o  THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER. 

"begs  me  for  the  love  of  heaven  to  ask  you  is  she  a 
ruined  woman?  The  shares  are  now  5,000  on  the  street. " 

"  No,  about  4,000,"  interjects  Monseigneur  Law, 
glancing  over  a  slip  of  paper  that  a  secretary  who 
has  come  in  hurriedly  has  just  placed  before  him. 

Then  he  whispers  almost  to  himself:  "Now  is  my 
time!  I  have  prayed  God  for  this  financial  flurry, 
squall,  or  panic — whatever  you  choose  to  call  it — for 
the  last  few  nights.  I  did  not  wish  to  make  it  myself, 
but  it  has  come  and  cleared  the  financial  atmosphere. 
It  has  shaken  out  the  gamblers  who  buy  for  quick  turns. 
Stronger  holders  will  take  their  places,  and  this 
lesson  will  make  the  general  greedy  crowd  less 
sanguine.  They  will  not  inflate  my  balloon  too  rapiflly. 
That  is  my  great  terror!  But  you  can  tell  your  aunt 
that  if  her  stocks  are  held  for  her,  she  is  safe.  If  she 
has  been  sold  out  on  margins,  of  course  I  can't  help 
that!"  He  shrugs  his  shoulders.  Then  he  says 
suddenly  to  D'Arnac:  "  Buy  some  yourself." 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  want  you  to — as  a  favor  to  me,"  purrs 
Uncle  Johnny.  For  into  his  mind  has  flashed  this 
sudden  idea.  "This  is  the  man  for  my  purpose! 
Here  he  is — made  to  my  order  for  the  moment!  A 
man  of  standing — a  man  who  has  kept  aloof  from 
speculation." 

"Where  will  I  get  the  money?"  suggests  D'Arnac, 
jeeringly.  "Shall  I  sell  my  estate?" 

"No,  this  letter  to  my  broker!  "  And  Law  writes 
hurriedly  a  few  lines,  then  says:  "Take  it,  and 
regard  it,  not  as  a  favor  to  yourself,  but  as  a  favor 
to  me."  » 

Raymond  glancing  at  it,  reads  the  following: 

To  the  broker  Papillon  : 

Buy  what  Comte  d'Arnac  orders.  I  guarantee  his  credit. 
Send  his  stock  to  the  Bank  Royal.  JOHN  LAW. 

"How  much  shall  I  buy?  " 

"As  much  as  you  like.  Not  less  than  one  thousand 
shares.  Better  say  two.  I  do  not  care  if  you  make  it 
three  or  four.  But  buy  them  QUICK!  As  soon  as  the 
purchase  is  made — and  be  very  careful  of  this — swear 
Papillon  to  secrecy.  That  will  make  the  ineffable 
scoundrel  SURE  to  tell.  Quick!  Go — or  I  fear  the 


THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER.  l6l 

guard  outside  may  have  to  use  their   guns  upon  the 
crowd,  and  that  would  be  terrible." 

For  the  murmur  of  discontent  and  riot  now  rises  up 
so  loudly  that  it  forces  its  way  into  the  very  room  in 
which  they  are  sitting.  And  listening  to  this,  Law 
sneers:  "These  very  people  that  curse  me  now,  will 
bless  and  worship  me  before  to-night!  " 

With  these  words  ringing  in  his  ears,  Raymond 
squeezes  his  way  out,  leaving  part  of  his  coat  in  the 
hands  of  the  crowd,  such  is  the  fearful  crush. 

But  getting  to  his  voiture,  that  he  has  told  to  wait, 
he  drives  rapidly  to  the  Rue  Quincampoix,  and  finally, 
struggling  and  fighting,  aud  leaving  another  part  of  his 
garment  in  the  hands  of  the  Philistines,  he  eventually 
succeeds  in  forcing  his  way  into  the  office  of  Papillon, 
the  great  broker  of  the  time — the  great  scoundrel  of 
the  time — who  is  slowly  and  curiously  tolling  a  bell  in 
his  office,  which  seems  to  produce  a  direful  effect  upon 
the  market,  most  of  the  brokers  selling  it  down. 

The  India  stock  is  weak,  even  at  4,000.  For  this 
financial  charlatan  has  organized  a  clique  to  do  his 
bidding.  When  he  rings  his  bell  in  a  certain  way, 
every  precious  scoundrel  in  his  coterie  produces  every 
selling  order  that  he  has  and  sells  stocks  down.  When 
Papillon  rings  his  bell  a  different  way,  every  one  of  this 
exquisite  band  of  scoundrels  takes  every  buying  order 
that  he  has  in  his  portfolio  and  buys  stocks  up. 

Getting  to  Papillon,  Raymond   astounds  that  gentle 
man  by  commanding:    "  Stop  jingling  your  bell — Read 
this."  And  glancing  at  the  mystic  signature,  this  broker 
dares  not  juggle  with  the  friend  of  Monseigneur  Law. 
"  What  are  your  orders,  M.  le  Comte  ?  "  he  whispers. 
"  Buy  two  thousand  shares  at  once." 
"  Of  what  ?  "  says  Papillon. 

"  Mothers  of  the  India  Company,"  answers  D'Arnac. 
"  What  is  the  price  ?  " 

"  About  4,000  livres,  but  weak." 
"Buy!  " 

Papillon,  going  into  the  crowd,  executes  his  order, 
and  the  shares  stop  descending  for  a  moment.  A 
moment  after  he  returns  and  says:  "  To  buy  was  easy, 
To  sell  would  have  been  more  trouble.  Your  com 
mission  is  executed." 


162  THE  KING'S  STOCKBROKER. 

Then  whispers  Raymond  impressively:  "  I  swear  you 
to  secrecy  about  this  order  and  Monseigneur  Law's 
note!  " 

"As  God  is  above  me,  no  living  man  shall  know!" 
mutters  Papillon,  but  even  as  he  says  this  he  seems  to 
have  received  some  cipher  order,  for  suddenly  he  com 
mences  to  ring  his  bell.  Three  taps,  one  after  the 
other  rapidly.  With  this  a  number  of  brokers  who  have 
been  executing  only  selling  orders,  suddenly  pocket  these ; 
and  taking  their  purchasing  ones  from  their  portfolios 
commence  to  buy. 

The  stock  rises  and  the  crowd  cheer,  and  the  India 
stock  goes  up  to  5,000  livres  a  share. 

Papillon  whispers  eagerly:   "  Will  you  sell  now  ?  " 

Raymond  replies:  "  No,  I'll  sell  when  Monseigneur 
Law  orders — not  before '."and  strides  away,  bearing 
receipt  in  his  pocket  that  2,000  original  shares  of  the 
India  Co.  have  been  purchased  for  his  risk  and  account. 

Then  he  finds  Clothilde  a  fainting  wreck  upon  the 
street,  and  gives  her  comfort.  She  says:  "Yes,  the 
stock  is  rising!  I'm  safe  if  my  villain  broker  has  not 
sold  me  out.  I  cannot  find  him  anywhere!  " 

"  What  broker  is  it  you  fear  has  played  you  false  ?  " 
asks  D'Arnac  sternly,  for  he  knows  very  little  about  the 
ethics  of  stock  transactions,  and  thinks  like  many  others 
have  done  since  that  the  poor  broker  who  sells  his 
clients'  stock  after  their  margins  are  uncovered  is  a  thief 
— that  the  customer  should  ruin  the  broker — but  never 
the  broker  save  himself  by  client's  loss.  Therefore  he 
mutters  savagely:  "  Show  the  scoundrel  to  me!  " 

She  whispers:    "  He  is  the  Hollander,  Van  Tamn." 

They  hunt  about  the  street  for  Van  Tamn,  but  can 
not  find  him  in  the  crowd,  and  they  inquire,  but  no 
one  has  seen  Van  Tamn.  Some  say  he  has  absconded 
probably,  and  laugh  and  jeer — for  wrecks  are  numerous 
upon  the  Quincampoix,  and  money  has  been  borrowed 
by  the  hour  at  usurer's  interest,  to  protect  accounts. 

Not  finding  him  in  the  street,  they  seek  him  at  his 
office.  But  to  their  astonishment  they  see  Lanty 
patrolling  in  front  of  it,  an  admiring  crowd  cheering 
him  as  he  passes  up  and  down  with  a  naked  sabre  in  his 
hand,  and  pistol  ready. 

At  this  Clothilde  sets  up  a  shudder  and  cries  out: 


THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER.  163 

"Has  the  usurer  absconded?      Has  Van  Tamn  sold 
my  stocks  ? " 

"By  the  Lord!  he's  sold  NOBODY'S  stocks !"  answers 
Lanty.  He  would  have  sold  mine,  but  I  kept  old  Van 
Tamn  shut  up  in  his  office.  I  told  him  he  would 
issue  only  to  find  my  sword  through  his  body!  Then, 
by  my  soul!  the  sneaking  fox  tried  to  sell  me  stocks 
out  of  his  second  story  window.  But  I  blazed  at  him 
with  my  pistol  until  he  retreated.  So,  thanks  to  me 
and  my  sword,  Van  Tamn's  customers  are  safe." 

At  this  delicious  news  Clothilde,  falling  on  her  knees 
before  the  Irishman,  astonishes  him  by  kissing  his 
hand  and  blessing  him  as  her  savior,  as  do  many 
other  of  Van  Tamn's  customers  who  were  short  in 
their  margins  that  day. 

Then  Lanty,  opening  the  door  of  the  office,  says: 
"You  can  come  out  now,  old  man  ;  the  margins  are 
secure."  For  with  a  roar  the  stock  has  mounted  to 
6,000  livres,  Raymond  shouting  with  the  rest;  because 
now  he  is  a  speculator,  too;  and  greedy,  like  all  specu 
lators  are.  He,  who  sneered  in  the  morning,  shouts  with 
delight  and  triumph  in  the  evening  with  every  upward 
move  that  makes  him  richer. 

And  so  the  battle  goes  on;  stocks  recover  to  7,000. 
Then  the  Brothers  Paris  and  their  clique  and  following 
make  another  onslaught;  fora  minute  the  upward  rush 
is  stayed. 

But  little  Charlie  de  Moncrief  is  now  in  the  foremost 
of  the  throng,  raising  his  withered  hands  to  Heaven,  as 
if  praying  to  his  God,  and  chanting:  "  Seven  thousand 
livres  for  a  thousand  shares! " 

"  Sold!  "  cries  the  youngest  of  the  Brothers  Paris,  a 
bizarre  and  stalwart  creature  of  wild  mien  and  bushy 
beard  and  hair.  And  with  the  word  he  smites  poor 
Cousin  Charlie  right  upon  the  nose  and  places  him  hors 
de  combat. 

Then  with  a  wild  yell  the  members  of  the  Anti-Sys 
tem  follow  their  chief  and  sell  the  stock  down. 

Slowly  it  declines  to  6,500,  Raymond  looking  on,  his 
face  growing  slightly  pale,  for  the  fears  of  the  specu 
lator  have  come  to  him  as  well  as  the  joys. 

There  is  a  cry  of  triumph  from  the  Brothers  Paris  as 
the  stock  goes  down  and  down  and  is  offered  at  6,200. 


164  THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER. 

"Egad!  "  whispers  Lanty,  "  this  is  a  battle." 

"Then  if  it  is  a  battle,"  replies  Raymond,  "I 
FIGHT!"  And  he  mutters:  "Who  are  these  canaille — 
these  Brothers  Paris — that  dare  force  my  stocks  down 
and  make  me  poor  ? " 

Striding  up  to  Papillon,  the  broker,  he  whispers  to 
him:  "Buy  the  market  up  to  7,000  livres  a  share. 
Take  all  that's  offered.  Don't  ring  your  damn  bell!  I 
want  the  profits  myself !" — for  the  broker  is  about  to 
toll  the  signal. 

The  two  fly  out  on  the  street  together,  and  to  Ray 
mond's  ears  comes  the  cry  of  triumph  of  the  younger 
of  the  Brothers  Paris  shouting  with  exultant  voice: 
"  I'll  sell  a  thousand  mothers  at  sixty-two  hundred!" 

"Take  them!"  cries  D'Arnac;  "send  them  in  to 
Papillon;  and  take  this  also,  for  decrying  the  value  of 
maternity."  And  he  knocks  the  younger  Brother  Paris 
down. 

Then  Papillon  is  buying  right  and  left,  and  all  his 
clique  not  waiting  for  his  bell,  sail  in  again,  and  such 
ferocious  effects  as  now  take  place  were  never  seen 
in  trade  before,  as  in  this  first  great  fight  to  a  finish  of 
bull  and  bear;  for  brokers  fight  and  tear  each  other's 
hair  and  smash  each  other's  faces,  and  some  are  wounded 
with  clubs,  knives  and  daggers. 

But  with  another  buying  rush  stocks  mount  again. 
Orders  seem  to  come  from  everywhere  to  buy.  The 
Brothers  Paris  are  routed,  and  the  bulls  get  their  glut 
of  bruin's  blood  that  night,  though  the  bears  had  woe 
fully  worried  them  in  the  morning. 

"I  have  four  thousand  shares  for  you,"  whispers 
Papillon  in  Raymond's  ear.  "  Here  are  the  reports. " 

"  Does  that  include  the  thousand  I  bought  from  that 
Brother  Paris — the  one  with  the  bloody  nose,  I  don't  know 
his  infernal  name?  "  says  Raymond  sternly,  for  it  seems 
to  him  Papillon  has  purchased  more  than  he  returns; 
and  the  profit  on  them  now  is  very  large,  for  the 
parent  security  of  the  India  Company,  as  they  speak,  is 
being  bid  for  at  the  rate  of  8,000  livres  a  share. 

"Yes,  these  are  all,"  mutters  the  broker.  "Have 
you  not  made  enough  ?  Would  you  like  to  sell  now  ?" 

"  No.  I  sell  when  Monseigneur  Law  directs,"  laughs 
Raymond,  as  he  stands  gazing  on  the  scene,  which  is 


THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER.  165 

now  gaining  an  excitement  that  is  weird.  The  roar  is 
louder  than  ever,  for  the  bulls  have  now  no  mercy. 

And  over  this  wild  battle  of  brokers  who  still  fight  on, 
as  darkness  comes  upon  them,  the  red  oil  lamps  of  the 
Rue  Quincampoix  gleam,  as  the  stocks  of  the  India 
Company  are  bid  up  and  bulled  until  they  reach  8,500 
livres  a  share,  and  the  people  cry:  "God  bless  the 
great  financier  !  " 

And  Cousin  Charlie,  covered  with  dust,  whispers  in 
D'Arnac's  ear:  "  God  bless  you,  too,  Raymond!  You 
saved  the  market." 

"  Oh,  ho!  even  you,  Monsieur  le  General,  are  now  a 
financial  fanatic!  "  laughs  Monsieur  Voltaire,  who  is 
standing  beside  him,  smiling  upon  the  scene. 

Now  some  one  coming  into  the  crowd  cries :  ' '  Bravo ! 
the  Academy  of  France  has  just  elected  Monseigneur 
Law  one  of  its  members — one  of  the  immortals  !  " 

"  As  a  financier  ?  "  asks  one. 

"  As  a  statesman  ?  "  queries  another. 

"  As  the  boy  who'll  make  us  all  rich,  and  bate  the 
divil  out  of  the  Brothers  Paris!  "  yells  Lanty,  now  very 
happy. 

"  No!  "  answers  Voltaire,  sarcasm  in  his  voice,  and  a 
sneer  on  his  mobile  features:  "  AS  A  GOD  !  " 

At  this  the  crowd  burst  into  a  wild  huzza.  And  look 
ing  on  it,  the  poet  sneers  again  under  his  breath  : 
"Fall  down  and  worship  him,  ye  sons  of  Mammon,  as 
the  Israelites  did  the  golden  calf — the  calf  that  one  day 
will  be  your-ruin,  as  theirs  was  to  them!  " 

But  the  crowd,  luckily  for  the  poet,  do  not  hear  this, 
and  they  shout  again:  "Long  life  to  the  King  and 
Monseigneur  Law,  his  stockbroker!  " 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE  CHEVALIER  LANIGAN. 


This  awful  excitement  is  fatiguing;  and  Lanty  sug 
gesting:  "Would  yer  honor  deign  to  favor  my  cabaret 
in  the  Rue  de  Venise,  by  accepting  a  supper  from  me  ?  " 

Raymond  immediately  acquiesces. 

"You  will  let  me  pay  for  my  meal,  I  hope,"  he 
remarks. 


i66  THE  KING'S  STOCKBROKER. 

"  Faix!  I'll  do  nothing  of  the  kind — it  would  cost  ye 
too  much.  My  cabaret  is  an  expensive  place.  .  Prices 
have  gone  up  again,"  grins  Lanty. 

"I  sather  think  I've  made  enough  to  pay  for  one 
supper,"  laughs  D'Arnac  merrily.  Next  he  says,  with 
a  prolonged  whistle:  "  Pardieu!  it's  800,000  livres 
on  the  first  two  thousand  I  have  and  Heaven  knows 
how  much  on  the  other!"  then  suddenly  adds: 
"There  is  some  good  in  Uncle  Johnny  after  all." 

"  Bedad!"  says  Lanty,  "  I  think  he's  a  good  friend 
of  all  of  us,  though  I  was  feeling  like  killing  him  this 
morning,  when  stocks  went  down.  Just  see  what  a 
business  L'Epee  du  Bois  will  be  doing  to-night." 

On  entering  the  cabaret,  these  prognostications 
are  true.  The  place  is  crowded,  and  did  not  the  host 
himself  get  a  table  and  do  the  honors  D'Arnac  would 
only  have  the  pleasure  of  looking  at  others  eat,  drink 
and  enjoy  themselves. 

''Ain't  the  prices  going  up?"  whispers  Lanty. 
"Listen  to  the  darlings  bidding  for  the  food.  It's 
running  a  little  short." 

And  Raymond,  turning  about,  sees  Lenoir,  now  in 
the  plain  clothes  of  a  gentleman,  bidding  against 
the  rich  Mississippian,  Fargis,  for  a  chicken — 
the  last  in  the  house.  Mutually  exciting  each  other's 
appetite,  they  run  the  price  up  to  two  hundred  livres 
for  a  skinny  fowl. 

"  Pardieu !  you've  got  the  purse  of  me,"  cries  Lenoir, 
"you  miserable  upstart  of  finance,  but  I've  got  the 
sword  of  you!"  And,  drawing  his  rapier,  he  spits  the 
fowl  in  the  aghast  waiter's  hand,  and  devours  it  before 
the  very  eyes  of  the  rich  and  hungry  Fargis,  who  begs 
him  humbly  for  a  little  piece  of  it,  but  gets  nothing. 

Satisfying  his  appetite,  Raymond  makes  way  for 
others  who  are  still  crowding  in ;  for,  though  the  larder 
is  running  short,  there  is  plenty  to  drink,  and  wine  is 
flowing  freely — and  money  likewise. 

None  are  so  reckless  in  their  prodigality  as  stock 
operators  who  have  made  a  lucky  turn.  Money  comes 
quickly — it  goes  faster! 

At  the  door  D'Arnac  says  hurriedly  :  "  Lanty,  good 
bye!  I've  a  gentleman  to  thank  this  evening." 

"Uncle    Johnny?     Sure!    though   I    never  thought 


THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER.  167 

I'd  thank  Uncle  Johnny  for  anything,  ye  can  give  him 
me  compliments  also." 

Taking  carriage  again,  for  the  terrible  jostling,  strug 
gling  and  pushing  of  the  crowd  has  wearied  even 
D'Arnac's  strong  limbs,  he  arrives  at  the  great  house 
of  Monseigneur  Law  and  finds  it  surrounded  by  another 
crowd — but  not  the  threatening  one  of  the  early  after 
noon. 

The  Place  Vendome  is  filled  with  the  carriages  of  the 
nobility,  and  equipages  are  driving  up,  followed  by 
their  footmen  with  lighted  flambeaux,  to  the  great 
entrance  of  the  house. 

A  number  of  the  bourgeoisie  are  looking  on,  and  a 
crowd  of  most  disreputable  tramps,  mendicants,  and 
beggars,  are  wildly  cheering,  as  if  this  great  commotion 
in  securities  ha'd  somehow  put  money  in  their  pockets. 

Then  Monsieur  le  General  Comte  D'Arnac  is  an 
nounced  and  enters  the  great  reception  salon  of  the 
house. 

The  room  is  filled  with  the  fashion  and  beauty  of 
France. 

In  full  evening  toilettes,  the  white  arms  and  snowy 
shoulders  of  beauty  gleam  under  a  myriad  wax  lights. 
Among  them,  La  Marquise  de  Prie  upon  his  arm,  strolls 
Uncle  Johnny,  God  of  both  man  and  woman  ;  the 
ladies  being  even  more  profuse  in  their  protestations 
of  delight  at  the  happy  turn  financial  affairs  have  taken 
than  the  gentlemen.  One  duchess  with  tears  in  her 
eyes  is  thanking  Lass  for  her  fortune  even  as  Ray 
mond  comes  up. 

As  his  eyes  light  on  D'Arnac,  Law  cries  out:  "You 
bought  just  at  the  right  time.  Let  me  congratulate  you !  " 

Then  excusing  himself  to  La  Marquise  he  steps  to 
Raymond  and  whispers:  "Have  you  sold?  " 

"No.  I  told  Papillon  I  would  sell  when  you 
directed." 

"Humph!  that  is  more  difficult  to  judge  than  when 
to  buy!  " 

But  their  conversation  can  last  no  longer  Too 
many  are  anxious  to  catch  the  ear  of  the  king  of  gold. 

A  princess  edging  between  says:  "  I  made  my  little 
boy  pray  to  God  for  you  to-night,  because  to-day  you 
saved  his  estates  for  him,  dear  Monseigneur  Law.  ' 


1 68  THE  KING'S  STOCKBROKER. 

"  Pardi !  Madame  la  Princesse,  for  that  you  should 
thank  General  d'Arnac, "  replies  Lass,  shortly. 

"  General  d'Arnac? " 

"Certainly!  He  is  the  man  who  bought  stocks  at 
the  right  time,  and  turned  the  market.  Monsieur 
d'Arnac  is  wiser  than  I,  and  will  explain  the  affair, 
Madame  la  Princesse,"  and  introducing  Raymond  he 
leaves  him  with  the  lady. 

This  remark  of  the  financier  being  noised  about 
D'Arnac  finds  himself  quite  a  hero  among  lovely  women 
and  gay  and  reckless  men. 

But  though  beauty  smiles  on  him,  Raymond,  think 
ing  of  his  coat,  turns  to  leave  the  function.  At  the 
door  he  is  encountered  by  a  gentleman-in-waiting  who 
says:  "  Monseigneur  Law  would  like  a  word  with  you." 

Following  this  official,  D'Arnac  finds  himself  once  more 
closeted  this  day  with  the  financial  genius  of  the  hour. 

"  You  have  ordered  your  stock  sent  in  to  me  at  the 
Bank  Royal?"  says  the  financier  shortly. 

"Certainly!  " 

4 '  Give  me  the  list  of  your  purchases. "  Looking  over 
this  Lass  chuckles:  "Oh,  ho!  you  bought  ^thousand 
shares  instead  of  two,  and  bought  them  up!  Humph! 
You  are  a  speculator,  man  general!  But  hardly,  I 
think,  a  perfect  one.  Anyway  you  are  a  bad  broker. 
Bad  brokers  bull  the  market  when  they  buy.  In  fact, 
you  were  just  the  man  for  the  occasion."  Then,  look 
ing  over  the  account  again,  he  says:  " You'll  owe  me 
to-morrow  3,380,000  livres  plus  commissions." 

"My  God!"  shudders  Raymond,  who  has  hardly 
gone  into  figures  on  the  affair,  "How  shall  I  pay  you?" 

"Oh,  do  not  pay  me  at  all.  The  security  is  good. 
You  will  have  stocks  in  my  keeping  to  the  value  of 
5,400,000  livres — 2,000,000  profit  now.  The  last  quo 
tation  was  9,000  livres  a  share.  I  shall  not  tell  you 
when  to  sell.  When  you  think  you  have  enough,  let 
go.  I  will,  however,  hint  that  the  stocks  at  present 
can  pay  interest  on  10,000  livres  a  share,  and  the  mar 
ket  must  be  a  rising  one,  for  the  Anti-System  must  buy 
to  fill  their  short  contracts." 

Then  he  laughs,  as  Raymond  turns  to  leave:  "  What 
a  bad  business  man  you  are!  Let  me  give  you  a  re 
ceipt  for  the  purchases  you  have  made."  This  he  does, 


THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER.  169 

chatting  as  he  writes:  "These  purchases  show  you  to 
be  no  speculator.  There  is  sentiment  in  every  one  of 
them.  You  had  better  keep  away  from  the  Quincam- 
poix.  You  wanted  the  market  to  go  up — you  jumped 
the  prices  on  yourself.  Apropos  of  sentiment,  please 
present  my  compliments  to  Mademoiselle  Quinault, 
your  ward.  Tell  her  that  I  am  at  her  service." 

And,  Raymond  taking  his  departure,  this  man  of 
cold  blood  gazes  after  him,  a  placid  smile  crossing  his 
clear  cut  features  as  he  thinks:  "  To-day  I  bought  this 
man  and  he  does  not  know  it.  One  limb  cut  from  the 
De  Conti-D'Argenson  faction.  He's  in  love  with  little 
Quinault;  that  is  what  makes  Hilda  so  vicious." 

As  for  Raymond,  he  drives  home  tired  and  happy, 
but  anxious  to  see  his  sister — perhaps  to  brag  about  his 
success  in  stocks — a  thing  that  most  young  speculators 
are  given  to. 

Arriving  at  Mimi's  hotel,  he  tells  his  story  to  an  ex 
cited  listener,  who  finally  gasps:  "How  much  have 
you  made  ?" 

"I  don't  exactly  know, "  remarks  Raymond  in  care 
less  financial  grandeur.  "  Perhaps  about  two  millions 
on  my  purchases  to-day." 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  she  cries.  Then  says  viciously: 
"  And  you  told  me  not  to  speculate." 

"And  I  beg  you  not  to.  I  would  not  have  you  such 
a  woman  as  our  aunt,  Clothilde,  for  all  the  wealth  on 
the  Rue  Quincampoix." 

"Then  soon  I  shall  be  a  pauper,"  ejaculates  La  Mar 
quise.  "Provisions,  rents,  wages — everything — are 
going  up  to  such  enormous  figures.  It's  a  fearful 
thing  to  be  a  housekeeper  in  Paris  now." 

"  Yes;  chickens  are  now  worth  two  hundred  livres!" 
jeers  D'Arnac,  and  tells  Mimi  the  story  of  the  auc 
tioned  pullet. 

This  inflation  of  everything  is  true,  as  Mimi  speaks. 
But  in  the  course  of  the  next  month  becomes  even 
more  marked,  for  stocks  go  up  and  up,  and  everything 
in  Paris — from  real  estate  to  dry  goods — increases  in 
value  with  them;  De  Conti,  D'Argenson  and  all  their 
clique,  fighting  against  this  to  no  purpose. 

One  day  De  Conti  tries  even  to  ruin  the  Bank  Royal, 
bringing  in  securities,  and  demanding  payment  for  them 


170  THE    KINGS    STOCKBROKER. 

not  in  bills,  but  in  silver  and  gold — something  that 
Monseigneur  Lass  is  very  loath  to  furnish  him.  He  has 
already  carried  away  three  wagon  loads  of  precious 
metal,  when  the  Regent  summoning  him  to  his  presence 
says:  "In  attacking  the  credit  of  Monseigneur  Law,  you 
are  attacking  the  credit  of  France.  Stop  demanding 
specie  payments — or — even  for  you,  my  cousin,  the 
Bastille." 

From  this  De  Conti  has  retired,  howling  out  his  rage, 
and  declaring  in  the  presence  of  the  Regent  that  he  is 
being  robbed.  But  for  all  that,  desisting  in  his  attempts 
to  empty  the  exchequer  of  the  Royal  Bank. 

As  for  the  Brothers  Paris  they  are  groveling  in  the 
dust;  they  have  lost  millions  trying  to  force  down  a 
market  that  will  not  down. 

Tremendous  fortunes  rise  like  the  castles  of  Spain — 
in  a  night.  Perchance  they  may  fade  away  with  the 
morning's  awakening ;  but  at  present  they  seem  as  strong 
as  the  rock  of  ages. 

So  the  ball  goes  merrily  along,  and  Paris  becomes  the 
most  luxurious  city  earth  has  ever  born.  Fete  follows/2/* 
— each  more  extravagant  than  the  one  before.  Money 
seems  to  be  worth  less  than  the  dust  of  the  pavement. 

Popliniere  opens  a  buffet  table  at  his  own  expense, 
for  the  ladies  of  the  opera;  where  they  may  be  his  guests 
each  day,  so  that  he  can  invite  members  of  the  nobility 
to  dine  with  the  fair  ones  of  song  and  dance;  and  thus 
squeeze  his  way  into  society.  For  that  is  now  the  object 
of  all  the  great  Mississippians  who  have  made  enormous 
fortunes. 

Fargis  gives  a  six  days'///*  of  more  than  royal  magnifi 
cence.  And  in  all  the  great  houses  purchased  by  the  gam 
blers  of  the  street  entertainments  of  reckless  prodigality 
are  given.  Musicians  play  the  sweet  melodies  of  Lulli ; 
dancing  girls  pose  after  dinner  in  the  barbaric  nudeness 
of  Ancient  Rome,  as  the  financiers  of  France  cook 
dainty  morsels  gathered  from  the  four  corners  of  the 
earth,  in  chafing  dishes  heated  by  burning  bank  bills. 

Then  comes  the  second  stage. 

Some  of  the  nobility,  lured  by  the  enormous  dowers 
showered  upon  the  daughters  of  rich  speculators,  begin 
to  ask  their  hands  in  marriage,  and  wealth  buys  blood 
and  title. 


THE    KING  S    STOCKBROKER.  171 

Hearing  of  these  marriages  of  nobles  with  the  bour 
geoisie,  the  fair  actress  of  the  Theatre  Frangais'  eyes 
become  bright,  and  she  murmurs  to  herself:  "I  have 
two  millions — besides,  I  think  he — . "  Then  she  begins 
to  blush  and  laughs:  "  If  I  could  get  a  title  !" 

For  the  prevailing  craze  to  become  one  of  the 
noblesse  is  upon  her,  as  upon  all. 

Wealth  they  have.  Now  they  cry:  "  Give  us  social 
rank  ! " 

In  proof  of  this  one  fine  morning  late  in  November 
D'Arnac  and  his  sister  are  just  finishing  breakfast  when 
the  "  Chevalier  Lanigan  "  is  announced. 

"Who  can  it  be  ? "  says  Mimi,  in  surprise. 

"Deuce  if  I  know,"  mutters  her  brother.  "The 
valet  is  grinning  as  he  announces  him."  Then  he 
gasps:  "  Great  heavens !  it'sLanty!" 

As  the  genial  Irishman  comes  in  eagerly  and  excit 
edly,  remarking:  "Bedad!  didn't  yer  know  me  old  title 
that  I've  revived  with  me  new  fortune  ? " 

"Your  old  title  ?  "  mutters  D'Arnac,  struggling  with 
an  astonished  smile;  as,  occupied  with  military  duties, 
he  has  been  little  in  the  trading  portion  of  the  town, 
having  taken  Lass'  advice  and  left  his  securities  dor 
mant  for  the  present. 

Meanwhile,  Madame  la  Marquise  stares  at  Lanty. 
His  appearance  is  too  impressive  for  her  to  laugh,  for 
his  eyes,  though  eager,  have  the  pride  of  a  Hidalgo. 
His  long,  gaunt  limbs  are  clothed  in  the  finest  silken 
hose.  His  doublet  and  cloak  are  covered  with  Spanish 
lace  and  decorated  by  flaming  ribbons.  He  is  dressed 
in  the  acme  of  the  latest  fashion  as  to  clothes,  rapier, 
hat  and  wig,  and  walks  with  the  mincing  gait  of  a  court 
dandy. 

"You  have  news  from  O'Brien  ?"  whispers  D'Arnac, 
for  the  fellow's  appearance  indicates  nervous  excite 
ment. 

"  Divil  a  word  from  him  for  the  last  two  days,  but 
I've  notice  from  him  he's  preparing  to  move  on  the 
inimy.  I  think  the  courier  will  be  coming  soon  from 
Vienna  with  his  papers,"  returns  Lanty,  making  his 
bow  to  Madame  la  Marquise.  Then  he  says  sud 
denly:  "  I'm  on  business  of  me  own — the  business  of 


I?2  THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER. 

me  life.  I  want  both  ye,  Giniral,  and  yer  condescend 
ing  sister  to  help  me  out  on  me  weddin'. " 

"Your  wedding!  "  ejaculates  D'Arnac. 

"Your  wedding!  "  echoes  Mimi.  Then,  with  femi 
nine  curiosity,  she  queries:  "Who  is  the  bride  ?" 

"I'm  comin'  to  her  in  a  minute,"  answers  Lanty. 
"  Here's  the  card  of  invitation,"  and  he  produces  two 
pieces  of  pasteboard,  upon  which  the  following  an 
nouncement  is  printed  in  the  script  of  the  time: 


ike  konot  of  yout  p%eAen.ce  at  ike 
mazuacje  cetemonieA  of  kiA  daugktct 
ctt&atliilde 


iei  £anigan 
of  2)  ]evii  A  yiseAt,  (Bounty  07are,   Steland 

(fiand   cfl&aAA,    at   ^otte   2)ame 
cffloidday,  December   10,  tytq 


cfete  Gkampagne,  tke  dame 
evening,  at  cff&onaieuz  (Bka 

(Bkateau   de    cJnDontfeimiel 


Mon  Dieu  !  you  are  going  to  marry  the  daughter 
of  Chambery,  the  rich  Mississippian  who  has  bought 
Montfermiel,  poor  old  Comte  de  Beaufleur's  pretty 


THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER.  .         173 

country  place  at  Ivry  Why,  he's  worth  forty  mill 
ions!  "  cries  D'Arnac,  excitedly. 

"  Divil  doubt  that!  I  counted  the  securities  when  I 
signed  the  marriage  contract.  Perhaps  I  might  have 
done  better — there  are  richer  than  he  on  the  street. 
That  leather  dealer  is  worth  sixty  millions,  and 
Dame  Chamard  they  say  has  bagged  eighty.  But  I'm 
continted  with  forty  millions,  as  Marie  is  the  purtiest 
girl  in  the  Faubourg,"  remarks  Lanty,  complacently. 
"Besides,  I'm  a  millionaire  also.  I  sold  both  my 
inns  when  I  revived  the  house  of  Lanigan. " 

"Worth  a  million  and  going  to  be  married  to  a  pretty 
girl1  What  is  her  dot?"  asks  Madame  la  Marquise, 
with  feminine  curiosity. 

"Five  millions  down,  and  five  millions  more  when  I 
get  the  bride  into  society,  which,  by  the  blessing  of  God, 
will  be  on  me  weddin'  night.  You  see,  I  promised  me 
father-in-law  that  I  would  have  all  the  dukes  and 
duchesses  and  comtes  and  comtesses  at  the  fete,  and  if 
I  fulfill  me  agreement  Marie's  dowry  is  to  be  doubled." 

"Sit  down  and  tell  us  how  you  won  her,"  laughs 
Raymond. 

"Sure,  I  bought :her!  " 

"Bought  her?"  ejaculates  Mimi.  "BOUGHT  her? 
How?" 

"  /  purchased  her  on  the  Rue  Quincampoix." 

"Do  they  deal  in  such  securities  there?"  says  Ray 
mond,  smiling. 

"Old  Chambery  did,  though  he  didn't  know  it  when 
he  sold.  Ye  see,  I'd  been  in  ambush  for  him,  and  when 
one  day  he  offered  a  '  darter '  for  sale  for  ten 
thousand  livres,  up  I  snapped  him  quicker  than 
a  fox  does  a  rabbit.  And  the  old  gintleman,  not  having 
the  stock  with  him,  gave  me  a  written  promise  to  deliver 
a  '  darter '  for  the  sum  of  ten  thousand  livres, 
writing  out  the  contract  on  the  hump  of  Quasimodo, 
then  and  there,  and  receipting  for  the  money,  which  I 
paid  him  on  the  hump  also. 

"All  the  time  I  was  say  in'  to  myself:  '  Divil  take  ye, 
Lanty,  ye're  not  the  man  I  think  ye,  if,  instead  of  a 
dirty  piece  of  paper  of  Monseigneur  Law's,  ye  don't 
bully  old  Chambery  to  deliver  up  pretty  Marie  to  ye  as 
the  "darter"  he  sold.' 


174  THE    KINO  S   STOCKBROKER. 

"With  that  I  bolts  off  to  Chambery's  house,  and 
gettin'  chance  word  with  the  girl,  I  said:  'Marie,  ye're 
mine!  I've  got  yer  father's  written  contract  to  deliver 
ye  to  me! '  And  didn't  she  grin  with  joy  as  she  saw  me 
writing  a  little  note  to  the  old  gintleman,  which  read 
about  this  way: 

CHAMBERY. 
BROKER. 

In  your  absence  I've  taken  possession  of  the 
'  darter'  you  sold  me  on  the  Rue  Quincampoix  to-day. 

Yours, 

THE  CHEVALIER  LANIGAN. 

"At  this  Marie's  beautiful  eyes  opened  wide  as  a 
cockle's  in  biling  water  and  she  gasped  :  '  What  do  you 
mane  ?  Ye're  not  goinj'  to  take  me  from  me  father's 
house  before  you  marry  me?' 

"Ah,  don't  fear,  me  little  darlint,  '  I  said  emphasiz 
ing  my  remarks  with  a  few  ante-nuptial  kisses.  '  It's 
only  part  of  me  little  game  of  brag.  Ye  just  run 
away  and  go  over  to  your  intimate  school  friend  Made 
moiselle  Laure  Brochard,  and  don't  come  out  of  your 
hiding  place  till  I  give  ye  word,  and  in  two  hours 
I'll  have  ye  the  affianced  bride  of  the  Chevalier 
Lanigan!' 

"  So  the  mischievous  minx  makin'  up  a  bundle  of 
clothes,  to  raise  up  in  her  old  pater  the  worst  fears, 
I  walked  her  away.  But  at  the  corner  of  the  street  we 
parted,  Marie  going  to  intimate  friend  Mademoiselle 
Laure,  and  I  returnin'  to  the  Turk's  Head,  to  smoke 
my  pipe  and  quietly  await  the  explosion  of  my 
petard. 

"By  me  soul!  in  about  two  hours  it  came  in  the 
form  of  Chambery  shrieking  and  tearing  his  hair,  and 
followed  by  about  twenty  archers  of  the  guard,  to 
rescue  his  purloined  daughter. 

"Well,  in  they  came,  frightening  the  people  eating 
in  the  cafe". 

"What  the  divil  are  ye  doing,  ye  old  baste,  taking 
the  appetites  out  of  my  customers !  '  said  I. 

"And  old  Chambery  putting  eyes  on  me  shrieks  out 
very  wildly:  '  My  darter! ' 

"'Oh,  the  darter  ye  sold  me,'  I  said.  'Did  ye  get 
me  note  statin'  I  had  taken  possession  of  the  goods?' 


THE    KINGS    STOCKBROKER.  175 

"  'But  she  isn't  the  darter  Isold  you! '  he  shrieked. 

"  '  Be  jabers!  Marie's  the  one  I  want  for  my  money,' 
laughed  I. 

"Whereupon  ye  should  have  seen  him  tear  his  hair 
and  cry  out  he  was  undone  !  It  nearly  made  me 
sick  laughing  he  was  so  like  Monsieur  Punch  after 
the  clown  has  run  away  with  Madame  Judy!  But  he 
screamed  out  to  the  archers  to  search  the  house,  which 
they  did,  and  they  not  finding  the  girl  he  got  on  his 
knees  before  all  the  crowd  and  begged  me  for  the  love 
of  the  Virgin  to  give  her  back  to  him. 

"  Then  I  said,  sternly:  '  Send  the  archers  out  of  the 
house! ' 

"Which  he  did.  Crying  out  that  dishonor  had  come 
upon  him. 

"  '  Dishonor  has  come  upon  me  by  yer  .foolishness, 
old  man,'  said  I.  '  Come  with  me!  '  and  he  followed 
me,  expecting  to  find  her — but  he  didn't. 

"He  only  found  an  empty  room,  with  paper,  pens 
and  ink,  and  two  naked  swords  upon  the  table, at  which 
he  shuddered.  I  locked  the  door  and  he  grew  more 
frightened  still  and  would  have  cried  out,  but  I  whis 
pered  '  Silence!  or  ye're  past  praying  for.  Ye've  put 
insult  upon  the  future  Lady  Lanigan!  Be  me  soul!  for 
this  I'll  have  yer  life.  Take  up  your  sword!  En 
garde\  ' 

"  At  which  he  grew  white  and  sickly  and  begged  for 
his  life,  protesting  he  meant  nothing  against  my 
honor. 

"  '  Is  it  nothing  that  you've  been  going  about  crying 
"  ih.e  future  Lady  Lanigan  is  undone  ? '  "  whispered  I, 
the  look  of  a  duelist  upon  my  face. 

"  '  Spare  my  life,  and  I'll  make  reparation.' 

"'There's  only  one  reparation  in  yer  power,  and 
that  I  don't  know  that  I  will  permit  ye  to  make.' 

"  '  What  is  it  ? '  groaned  he.  '  Please  permit  me  to 
make  it.' 

"' On  that  table,' said  I,  'there  are  pens,  ink  and 
paper.  Sign  there,  within  the  minute,  your  consent  to 
the  nuptials  of  your  daughter  Marie  de  Chambery 
and  the  Chevalier  Lanigan,  of  Divil's  Nest,  County 
Clare,  Ireland.  Then  the  public  shame  you  have  put 


176  THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER. 

upon  the  name  of  the  future  wife  of  me  heart  will  per 
chance  be  done  away,  and  I'll  let  ye  live! ' 

"My  sword  being  at  his  throat,  he  sat  down  and 
wrote  his  consent  to  the  weddin'  as  I  dictated,  and  then 
gasped:  'My  darter!  what  have  ye  done  with  her?' 
For  the  poor  fool  thought  I'd  been  playing  the  very 
divil  with  Marie. 

"  '  Don't  trouble  yer  mind  about  yer  darter,'  laughed 
I.  '  Put  yer  brains  upon  the  big  dot  ye'll  give  her.' 

"At  which  he  turned  horrified  eyes  upon  me;  as  I 
took  him  with  me  to  the  house  of  old  Brochard,  and 
relieved  his  feelings. 

"But  after  he  had  seen  Marie  was  safe,  and  what  a 
trick  we  had  played  upon  him,  the  old  gintleman 
turned  sulky  again,  and  it  was  only  by  pursuing  him 
wherever  I  saw  him,  and  threatening  to  have  his  life's 
blood  if  he  didn't  live  up  to  his  written  word,  and 
denouncing  him  as  a  poltroon,  and  chasing  him  from 
one  end  of  the  Quincampoix  to  the  other  till  the 
poor  wretch  didn't  dare  to  make  his  appearance  on 
the  street  to  buy  or  sell,  and  finally  by  the  help  of 
Marie,  who  always  had  tears  in  her  eyes  when  she  saw 
her  father,  and  said  he  had  destroyed  her  good  name, 
which  could  only  be  restored  by  marrying  me,  that  I 
finally  gained  his  consent. 

"  But  the  cunning  old  fox  made  the  doubling  of  his 
darter's  dot  depend  on  my  putting  him  in  genteel 
society,  which  is  now  the  desire  of  his  life. 

"  So  I  want  you  to  help  me  out  on  my  weddin'. 
I've  promised  me  beast  of  a  father-in-law  to  have 
the  court  and  quality  visit  the  ceremony,  and  enjoy  the 
champagne  fete  afterwards.  Will  ye  come  ?  For  the 
Lord's  sake,  come.  I  want  all  the  comtes  and  marquises, 
and  dukes  and  duchesses  possible.  De  Villars  himself 
has  promised,  and  the  Marquis  de  Viviens  and  every 
officer  I  have  been  able  to  get  word  with  who  remem 
bered  me  in  the  Flanders  war." 

"We'll  do  it!"  cry  D'Arnac  and  his  sister  in  one 
breath. 

And  they  set  about  aiding  the  Chevalier  Lanigan  to 
make  his  wedding  one  of  the  great  functions  of  the 
world  of  fashion  as  well  as  finance. 

"God  bless  ye  both,"  mutters  Lanty,  with  tears  of 


THE    KING  S    STOCKBROKER.  177 

pride  in  his  eyes.  "I  feel  as  happy  as  an  angel. 
Bedad  !' we'll  make  it  as  gorgeous  as  the  feast  of  Bel- 
shazzar. " 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

LANTY'S  WEDDING. 

THIS  they  proceeded  to  do ;  that  is,  if  the  feast  of  the 
Babylonian  King  was  the  most  expensive,  luxurious, 
and  bizarre  that  could  be  invented  both  as  regards  its 
guests  and  its  entertainment. 

Raymond  obtains  the  attendance  of  the  officers  of 
the  Musquetaires,  almost  in  a  body,  under  the  plea  that 
the  Chevalier  Lanigan  is  a  very  gallant  soldier,  and 
had  refused  commission  both  from  the  King  of  France 
and  the  Emperor  of  Austria.  The  officers  of  this  swell 
regiment,  being  all  nobles,  some  of  the  very  highest 
lineage,  this  alone  should  make  the  affair  fashionable. 

Madame  la  Marquise  de  Chateaubrien  passes  about 
Lanty's  cards  ad  libitum  among  her  friends  of  both  the 
court  of  the  Regent  and  the  court  at  Versailles. 

Old  Chambery  goes  in  person  to  Monseigneur  Law 
and  begs  his  attendance,  telling  him  his  daughter  is 
about  to  be  married  to  an  Irish  nobleman  of  highest 
lineage,  a  descendant  of  the  old  Kings  of  Clare. 

"I'll  come  to  the  ceremony  in  the  evening,"  replies 
Monseigneur  Lass.  Then  he  adds  genially:  "Give 
me  a  few  extra  tickets  and  I'll  bring  the  Regent  and  all 
the  rest  of  the  boys."  For  Uncle  Johnny  thinks  it  is 
sound  policy  to  gain  all  friends  possible;  and  a  man 
with  forty  or  fifty  millions  to  his  credit  may  be  of 
assistance  to  him  on  the  street;  though  never  for  a 
moment  does  it  enter  his  head  that  the  Chevalier 
Lanigan  is  his  bete  noir  Lanty,  of  O'Brien  Dillon 
memory  and  dread. 

"Bedad!  "  says  the  Chevalier,  looking  over  the  long 
list  of  invitations,  "we'll  have  everybody  in  Paris 
present,  except  the  wits." 

"What  do  you  mean?  " 

"I — I  mean  Voltaire,  Marivaux  and  the  literary 
crowd. " 


1 78  THE  KING'S  STOCKBROKER. 

"I'll  get  them  for  you  also,"  cries  Raymond  enthu 
siastically,  who  has  entered  into  the  affair  with  his 
whole  soul.  "Little  Quinault  will  be  the  one  to  do  it." 

So  he  drives  to  the  Fran£ais  to  see  Jeanne  at  the 
performance  in  the  evening. 

The  Chevalier  Lanigan  has  already  invited  the  fair 
actress  in  person. 

As  D'Arnac  explains  the  errand  to  Mademoiselle  Quin 
ault.  she  laughs:  "Give  me  enough  tickets  and  I'll 
guarantee  the  whole  Comedie  Fran$aise.  And  going 
about  the  greenroom  she  obtains  at  once  Lecouvreur, 
Duclos,  Baron  and  Poisson.  Returning  from  this  she 
says,  enthusiastically:  "This  evening  I'll  guarantee 
Voltaire,  Marivaux  and  old  Crebillpn  himself,  if  the 
rheumatism  does  not  claim  him.  Give  me  tickets 
enough  and  I'll  bring  the  whole  corps  de  ballet  of  the 
opera! " 

"Egad!  I  don't  think  the  wits  would  feel  compli 
mented  if  I  put  them  in  ensemble  with  the  figurantes" 
jeers  Raymond,  as  Jeanne  goes  off  merrily  upon  her 
errand;  for  things  seem  to  have  been  going  very  well 
with  la  Quinault,  since  her  adventure  and  escape. 

Raymond  has  not  mentioned  that  he  knew  the  source 
of  her  danger,  for  very  shame  of  the  entailed  confession. 
He  has,  however,  told  her  he  has  made  such  police 
arrangements  that  she  is  perfectly  safe  henceforth ;  but 
his  manner  as  he  has  said  this,  has  been  so  full  of 
concern  for  her  welfare  that  she  has  grown  happy  under 
his  very  words,  and  the  hope  that  she  is  nurturing  in 
her  soul  of  souls,  though  she  dare  hardly  confess  to 
herself,  becomes  more  real. 

And  these  nuptials  of  the  Chevalier  Lanigan  remind 
ing  Raymond  of  his  own  marriage,  he  remembers 
the  day  for  this  is  approaching  also;  and  some 
how  his  glances  grow  more  tender  as  they  fall  upon 
little  Jeanne,  for  he  feels  that  honor  will  soon  compel 
him  to  depart  from  her  side. 

So  the  day  of  the  great  nuptial/^  of  the  Chevalier 
Lanigan  arrives,  and  the  gay  world  of  Paris — even  the 
Court — is  eager  for  it.  Its  sun  is  very  bright  and 
warm,  and  though  it  is  December,  the  evening  promises 
to  be  mild  and  beautiful. 

The  wedding  mass  is  solemnized  in  great  pomp  and 


THE    KING  S   STOCKBROKER.  179 

state  by  an  archbishop,  attended  by  several  bishops  and 
abbe's  (for  the  wedding  fees  are  very  large),  at  the  great 
cathedral  of  Notre  Dame. 

This  is  witnessed  by  a  great  throng;  a  good  many 
even  of  the  noblesse  attending  the  nuptials  of  the  Chev 
alier  Lanigan,  about  whose  origin  and  history  there  are 
many  wild  rumors. 

As  Raymond  and  his  sister  gaze  on  the  ceremony,  they 
hear  whispered  about  them  such  remarks  as  this: 
"He  isn't  Irish,  he's  Scotch — the  natural  son  of  Mon- 
seigneur  Law." 

"No;  you  are  mistaken.  He's  the  elder  brother  of 
the  beautiful  De  Sabran,"  says  another — at  which  atro 
cious  libel  on  Hilda's  charms  Mimi  bursts  into  laughter. 

But,  notwithstanding  this,  no  more  gallant  figure  than 
that  of  the  robust  and  martial  Lanigan  ever  strode  up 
the  grand  aisles  of  the  cathedral,  and  no  plumper  bride 
ever  whispered  bashfully  her  responses  to  the  mass  that 
makes  her  wife  than  the  blushing  Marie. 

Young  D'Aubigne",  who  has  now  become  a  lieutenant 
in  the  Musquetaires,  acts  as  the  Chevalier's  best  man ; 
for  this  boy  is  ready  for  anything  that  promises  fun, 
and  has  a  very  pretty  bridesmaid  on  his  arm,  Made 
moiselle  Victoirine  Chamont,  whose  mother  is  the  rich 
est'  woman  in  Paris,  having  made,  almost  by  accident, 
eighty  millions  in  the  gigantic  speculations  now  taking 
place. 

But,  though  the  religious  ceremony  passes  off  very 
well,  it  is  to  the  grand  fete  in  the  evening  at  the  mag 
nificent  Chateau  de  Montfermiel,  near  Ivry,  the  grounds 
of  which  run  down  to  the  banks  of  the  beautiful  Seine, 
to  which  the  beau  monde  look  forward  with  eagerness 
and  rapture. 

It  is  about  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening  that  Raymond 
d'Arnac  drives  into  the  grounds,  to  find  half  of  gay 
Paris  awaiting  him,  and  the  other  half  following  after 
him;  his  equipage  is  but  one  of  a  thousand  that  are 
coming  into  the  place. 

With  him  are  Mademoiselle  Quinault,  her  duenna 
Madame  de  Caylor,  and  the  poet  Voltaire,  who  has 
been  very  happy  to  accept  a  free  drive  to  the  fete. 
During  the  journey  Jeanne's  face  is  marvelously  bright 
and  happy  as  she  turns  it  on  her  guardian.  Perchance 


180  THE  KING'S  STOCKBROKER. 

his  manner  is  even  more  than  usually  deferential  and 
tender  because  he  fears  this  night  may  be  the  last  of  a 
great  friendship;  for  Mimi  had  whispered  to  him  at 
Notre  Dame  :  "Your  turn  will  be  very  soon — next 
Friday  is  the  i5th  of  December." 

So  this  evening  he  will  tell  Jeanne  of  his  coming  nup 
tials  as  he  drives  home,  and  somehow  he  knows  in  his 
heart  of  hearts  their  friendship  will  never  more  be  just 
the  same.  Blessings  brighten  as  they  take  their  flight, 
D'Arnac's  as  other  men's. 

But  they  are  at  Montfermiel. 

"Pardi !  they  have  changed  night  into  day!  "  ejacu 
lates  Raymond. 

"Yes,  and  a  fairy  day!  "  cries  Jeanne,  and  clasps  her 
hands  in  almost  childish  joy  at  the  scene. 

The  grand  chateau  is  a  blaze  of  light  from  roof  to 
basement.  The  noble  park  is  illuminated  by  a  thousand 
immense  flambeaux  of  white  wax;  and  there  are  foun 
tains  iridescent  with  lamps  of  all  the  colors  of  the 
rainbow. 

From  a  magnificent  dancing  pavilion  of  ornamental 
wood,  covered  with  tinted  silk,  steal  forth  the  strains 
of  a  grand  orchestra;  another,  equally  gorgeous  as  to 
decoration,  is  filled  with  a  hundred  lackeys  in  the 
liveries  of  the  house  of  Lanigan — green  and  yellow — 
handing  rare  refreshments  to  a  thousand  guests. 

But  they  have  hardly  time  to  note  this.  Alighting  at 
the  main  entrance,  they  are  soon  in  the  crush.  In  the 
grand  old  hall  of  a  noble  family,  which  has  decayed  and 
passed  away,  the  gallant  Lanigan,  standing  by  his  blush 
ing  bride,  the  plump  Marie,  who  is  a  mass  of  diamonds, 
lace  and  silk,  and  fine  fat  arms  and  blushing  cheeks, 
receives  them,  his  eyes  glowing  with  manly  pride.  A 
moment  after  he  introduces  his  father-in-law. 

D'Arnac  is  received  with  humble  bow  and  faltering 
thanks  by  old  Chambery,  for  giving  him  the  honor  of  his 
presence.  As  for  Voltaire  and  Mademoiselle  Quinault, 
the  old  speculator  is  more  haughty  with  them,  to  the 
poet's  intense  disgust. 

So  Monsieur  Voltaire  goes  to  sneering:  "  Look  at 
the  mixture!  Egad!  There's  the  Prince de  SouBise  trad 
ing  jokes  with  Dame  Chamont — not  that  either  of  them 


THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER.  l8l 

are  very  witty ;  and  the  Due  de  Bullion  chatting  with 
Crozat,the  leather  merchant!" 

A  moment  after  the  bridegroom  comes  up,  radiant. 
He  babbles,  pride  in  his  eye  and  joy  on  his  red  face: 
"  Faix  !  I've  got  a  moment  off!  The  Regent's  doing 
the  honors;  he's  got  me  bride  on  his  arm  now.  The 
whole  affair's  glorious!  The  champagne  corks  are 
file-firing  now  in  the  refreshment  room!  But  at  the 
supper  they're  to  be  discharged  in  volleys  of  a  hundred 
bottles  at  a  clip.  I've  drilled  the  flunkies  myself! 
There'll  not  a  man  be  sober  by  morning!  We  throw 
light  refreshments  into  them  now;  but  at  midnight  the 
supper  room  will  be  open — then  egad!  I've  got  a 
surprise  for  all  of  ye !  I  have  just  seen  yer  sister,  la 
Marquise,  and  the  Comtesse  de  Crevecoeur.  Bedad!  if 
the  last  king  of  me  race  could  look  on  me  now,  he'd 
say:  4  Well  done,Lanty !  the  family's  risen  again  in  ye!'  " 

But  others  claim  the  bridegroom's  attention,  and  the 
throng  grows  greater  still.  Fashionable  Paris  now  fills 
the  halls  of  the  proud  Chevalier  Lanigan.  Actresses, 
speculators,  the  beauties  of  the  court  and  the  noblesse 
of  France. 

"  Look  on  this,  Lass, "  remarks  the  Regent.  "  This  is 
a  great  thing — bringing  all  ranks  in  touch.  See  De 
Conti  there.  By  all  the  gods!  he's  asking  old  woman 
Chamont's  daughter  for  the  minuet.  He  must  want  a 
loan  very  badly.  Pardi 7  I'll  take  the  '  Lady  Lanigan  ' 
and  make  their  vis-a-vis  !  "  which  he  does. 

Gazing  on  this,  Voltaire  chuckles:  "This  mixture 
of  the  froth  and  the  dregs  will  some  day  make  the  dregs 
better  than  the  froth." 

But  unheeding  of  the  future,  every  one  is  very  merry 
now.  Squeezed  out  of  the  house  by  the  crush,  D'Arnac 
strolls  into  the  dancing  pavilion  where  the  beauties  of  the 
court  are  treading  the  same  measure  with  the  magnates 
of  finance ;  a  few  litterateurs  and  actresses  giving  variety 
to  the  melange.  Little  Jeanne  is  still  hanging  on  his 
arm,  though  numerous  gallants  try  for  a  tete-a-tete  with 
her  bright  eyes,  for  she  is  very  beautiful  this  evening  in 
a  toilette  that  is  a  dream  of  taste  and  grace. 

The  ladies  that  they  meet  are  not  so  cordial. 

They  stroll  into  another  great  pavilion  and  there  find 
performing  acrobats  and  clowns.  Here  Raymond  en- 


182  THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER. 

counters  his  sister,  and  standing  beside  her  the  Comtesse 
de  Crevecoeur  and  Cousin  Charlie,  who  is  dancing 
attendance  upon  his  aunt,  hoping  to  get  some  hint  from 
her  that  may  help  him  balk  D'Arnac's  coming  mar 
riage. 

Mimi  is  even  more  gracious  than  usual  to  the 
actress  of  the  Frangais ;  for  into  her  heart  has  come  in 
these  latter  days  a  tender  pity  for  the  noble  spirit  she 
feels  will  soon  suffer  a  great  disappointment,  and  a 
generous  heart  that  will  be  wounded  perhaps  to  death 
by  the  inexorable  law  of  class. 

But  there  is  no  pity  in  Clothilde's  haughty  soul  for 
little  Jeanne.  -  To  her  pride  of  rank  she  has  added  now 
the  arrogance  of  great  wealth,  for  the  Comtesse  de 
Crevecceur  has  made  enormous  sums  in  the  rise  of  the 
India  stock.  She  has  great  holdings,  but  has  not 
yet  sold ;  so  every  day  adds  to  her  riches.  She  says 
superciliously:  "Ah,  Mademoiselle  Quinault,  you  come 
here  to  see  your  relatives  perform  ?" 

"  My  relatives  ?  "  ejaculates  Jeanne. 

"  Yes;  your  father  was  an  acrobat,  I  believe,"  sneers 
the  comtesse. 

"Oh,"  replies  la  Quinault,  airily,  "my  father  was  a 
much  greater  artist  than  these — he  could  throw  a  triple 
somersault." 

Looking  at  her,  Cousin  Charlie's  keen  eyes  discover 
that  her  lips  tremble,  and  this  gives  him  an  idea. 

If  these  two  women  will  only  hate  each  other  a  little 
more,  if  he  can  only  bring  the  actress  to  take  a  great 
revenge  upon  the  comtesse,  perhaps  she'll  do  his  trick. 

So,  in  his  deft  way,  a  moment  after,  when  Clothilde  has 
walked  away  on  his  arm,  he  suggests  laughingly:  "  You 
should  not  be  so  precipitate,  my  aunt.  Mademoiselle 
Quinault  may  one  day  be  your  niece-in-law. " 

" Mon  Dieu!"  mutters  the  comtesse  with  savage 
eyes.  "  Dotard,  are  you  in  senile  lust  going  to  degrade 
the  family  by  marrying  her  ?  "  for  the  Procureur's  gaze 
is  upon  Jeanne  and  she  is  very  beautiful  this  night. 

But  De  Moncrief's  hideous  grin  stops  her.  "You 
have  other  nephews  than  myself,"  he  chuckles.  "  These 
things  are  not  so  impossible  now.  The  daughter  of 
the  Due  de  la  Vrilliere  is  contracted  to  wed  Pamir,  the 
Lyonaise.  If  cooks  aspire — why  not  an  actress  ?  " 


THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER.  183 

"  My  God!  you  don't  mean  RAYMOND!  "  gasps  Clo- 
thilde,  half  fainting  at  his  hint. 

' '  Look  at  the  actress  now !  " 

She  glances  and  grows  pale.  Jeanne's  eyes  are  fixed 
on  D'Arnac  with  a  happy  beam,  for  young  D'Aubigne", 
chancing  to  pass,  remarks  to  Raymond  sotto  voce:  "I 
suppose  this  wedding  makes  you  eager  to  become  a 
bridegroom,  eh,  man  Colonel  ? "  and  laughingly  passes 
on. 

Both  Mimi  and  Jeanne  have  caught  the  words,  and 
Raymond's  sister,  who  has  now  an  infinite  pity  for  her 
protegee,  has  passed  her  arm  about  the  fair  actress' 
waist,  and  la  Quinault  imagines  D'Aubigne  is  twitting 
Raymond  about  her. 

Looking  on  this  Clothilde  whispers  words  that  make 
Cousin  Charlie  wince:  "His  mistress,  yes — but  his 
wife,  NEVER  !  " 

"  Why  ?  " 

"Because,"  cries  the  comtesse,  anger  making  her 

careless,  "next  Friday  Raymond  weds "  She 

checks  herself  here,  nearly  biting  off  her  impulsive 
tongue  and  mutters:  "A  D'Arnac  marry  a  woman  of 
the  stage — impossible!  " 

But  she  has  given  a  hint  De  Moncrief  has  been  ang 
ling  for.  "  Egad!  their  juggling  with  time  gives  me  a 
fighting  chance.  The  will  said  December  i5th — next 
Friday  is  the  last  day,"  thinks  the  Procureur. 

Then  he  says  suddenly:  "  Let  me  caution  you  about 
Mademoiselle  Quinault — you  do  not  know  her  wiles." 

"  You  fear  this  jade  has  some  hold  upon  Raymond." 
cries  the  Comtesse. 

"  Quiet!  let  me  cloak  you.  Come  into  the  garden — 
your  agitation  attracts  attention,"  mutters  De  Mon 
crief. 

So  he  leads  Clothilde  out  of  the  pavilion,  leaving 
Jeanne  very  happy  upon  the  arm  of  Raymond  and  very 
proud  of  him  in  that  dazzling  crowd. 

It  is  almost  the  happiest  moment  of  Quinault's  life — 
for  D'Arnac,  looking  very  dashing  in  his  uniform 
of  Colonel  of  the  Musquetaires ,  has  been  so  considerate 
in  his  manner,  so  deferential  to  her  every  want  and 
wish  this  evening  that  she  mistakes  what  is  fare 
well — for  love.  The  soft  strains  of  the  music  of  "  The 


184  THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER. 

Amaryllis"  of  Lulli  float  around  them.  The  scene  is 
fairylike.  Her  escort — her  lover — the  handsomest 
cavalier  in  all  the  glittering  throng.  And  Jeanne  is 
happy,  so  happy  that  her  bright  glances  tell  the  story 
of  her  heart  to  others  who  watch  her  closely. 

Gaston  Lenoir,  who  hates  Raymond  for  his  success 
with  one  who  had  tossed  his  suit  aside  as  not  that  of  an 
aristocrat. 

Hilda  de  Sabran,  whose  wanton  soul  Jeanne's  happy 
face  fills  with  all  the  pangs  of  longing  desire  and  jeal 
ous  fury. 

So  obtaining  opportunity  (D'Arnac  just  at  this 
moment  being  called  away  for  a  little  time  by  his  sis 
ter)  she  strides  up  to  the  actress  and  mutters:  "  You 
know  me,  Mademoiselle  Quinault  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  replies  Jeanne.  "  You  are  Madame  de 
Sabran." 

"Then  come  with  me — a  word  with  you  in  private." 

"  I  am  at  your  command,"  remarks  the  comedienne, 
gazing  in  wonder  at  the  splendid  beauty  that  is  before 
her,  and  perhaps  rather  curious  to  know  what  this  lady, 
who  is  all  powerful  with  the  Regent,  can  have  to  say 
to  her. 

Whereon  the  two  pass  out  together,  and  people  turn  to 
look  at  them,  for  the  loveliness  of  one  enhances  the 
loveliness  of  the  other,  as  the  diamond  makes  the  ruby's 
red  ray  more  brilliant,  more  beautiful — la  Sabran  robed 
in  gorgeous  colors  that  she  can  carry  off  with  barbaric 
majesty,  la  Quinault  in  lightest  tints  of  lace  and  tulle 
and  gauze.  One  is  as  the  great  red  sun — the  other  as 
the  rainbow  floating  round  it. 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  Cousin  Charlie  strolling  with 
Clothilde  about  the  grounds  fills  her  mind  with  stories 
of  the  actress'  love  for  her  nephew,  and  after  a  little, 
having  turned  out  from  the  crowd,  they  sit  down  upon 
a  rustic  bench,  beside  a  summerhouse  that  stands 
near  the  flowing  Seine,  and  would  talk  further — for  the 
night  is  wondrous  soft  for  December. 

But  suddenly  from  out  the  rustic  woodwork  of  the 
pagoda  come  words  to  them  that  make  them  very 
silent. 

Rubbing  his  hands  together  with  quiet  glee,  De 
Moncrief  takes  a  quick  glance  through  the  trellis 


THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER.  185 

work  and  shrubbery,  and  notes  it  is  Hilda  de  Sabran 
who  stands  before  Jeanne  Quinault,  saying  with  pallid 
lips,  but  flaming  eyes  and  blazing  cheeks:  "I  have 
been  told  that  I  must  spare  you.  But  do  not  go  too 
far.  Don't  let  me  see  you  glory  in  your  triumph  too 
much.  Otherwise  you  may  become  the  veiled  and  silent 
one  again !  " 

At  this,  Jeanne  rising  with  a  little  cry,  for  the  appear-, 
ance  of  Hilda  is  hardly  like  that  of  a  sane  woman, 
answers,  opening  her  blue  eyes  in  astonishment:  "I 
did  not  know  that  you  were  my  enemy  before!"  then 
adds  astounded:  "  Why  do  you  hate  me  ?  " 

"Why  ?  Because  you  have  the  love  that  is  not  mine! 
Because,"  whispers  De  Sabran,  "you  are  the  mis 
tress  of  Raymond  D'Arnac!  " 

"  I  am  not  his  mistress!  " 

"No ! — when  his  family  educated  you  for  that  honor?" 

"Oh  powers  of  mercy!  " 

And  Hilda  bursts  into  a  mocking  laugh  as  Jeanne 
pale  with  horror  falters  out  the  last. 

But  this  jeer  brings  fortitude  to  the  persecuted.  She 
cries:  "  I  am  not  as  you  are — my  love  is  not  as  yours — 
I  hope  to  be  his  wife  /  " 

"You  hope  to  wed  a  noble  ?  "  gasps  Hilda. 

Here  her  words  are  suddenly  re-echoed,  and  with  an 
awful  voice  Clothilde,  striding  in,  says:  "You  hope  to 
wed  the  Comte  d'Arnac,  one  of  the  noblest  names  in 
France — and  my  nephew!  You  actress — to  whom  the 
church  refuses  sepulchre  in  holy  ground — dost  thou 
not  remember  the  police  edict  which  begins  '  actresses 
and  other  courtesans  ? '  "  and  she  quotes  in  harsh  and 
cruel  voice  a  miserable  forgotten  law  of  ancient  Paris. 

Then  the  two — this  mistress  of  the  Regent,  and  this 
comtesse  of  France — burst  into  mocking  laughter,  and 
shower  on  Jeanne  those  cruel  insults  women  give  to 
women. 

Under  them  the  girl  is  crushed — but  not  for  long.  For 
she  has  a  spirit  braver  than  those  who  torture  her,and  she 
turns  on  her  tormenters  and  becomes  grand  and  domi 
nating  and  whispers:  "  I'll  make  you  both  know  I  have 
not  aspired  in  vain!  " 

"  How  ?  "  gasps    Clothilde. 

"  I    have   been   called  the  mistress;  I  WILL    BE  THE 


1 86  THE  KING'S  STOCKBROKER. 

WIFE!  "  And  Jeanne's  eyes  glow  with  inspired  revenge 
and  her  mocking  laughter  follows  her  opponents  as  they 
fly  from  her. 

But  the  game  is  on!  Jeanne  Quinault,  with  all  her 
impetuous  soul, will  now  marry  Raymond  d'Arnac,if  she 
can  do  it  by  fair  means  or  by  foul. 

But  the  very  hopelessness  of  her  task  appalls  the 
girl.  She  sinks  upon  a  bench  pondering  "How  ?  " 

The  light  from  a  great  wax  taper  blazing  overhead 
covers  her  with  soft  radiance,  as  with  clenched  hands 
and  knit  brow,  and  eyes  that  have  in  them  tragedy, 
little  Quinault  in  graceful  pose,  makes  a  pretty  picture. 

Suddenly  her  musings  are  broken  in  upon  by  a  clear- 
cut  incisive  voice  saying:  "Beautiful  actress,  is  this  a 
tableau  for  your  next  tragedy  ? " 

Looking  up,  Jeanne  sees  Uncle  Johnny. 

"Yes,"  she  says,  "the  tragedy  of  life."  Then 
bursts  out  suddenly:  "You  are  all-powerful  in  finance 
— you  make  people  rich.  Will  you  make  a  woman 
very  happy?  'The  Comte  d'Arnac,  my  guardian,  says 
that  you  hinted  you  would  do  me  a  favor.  Now  I  ask 
it." 

"What? "  sighs  Uncle  Johnny,  who  is  always  being 
asked  for  favors  now. 

"Oh,  I  don't  want  hints  on  stocks,  I  only  want  a 
title! "  cries  little  Jeanne,  her  heart  in  her  mouth — 
"Ask  the  Regent  to  give  me  a  title?" 

At  this  there  is  a  merry  laugh  outside,  and  Philippe 
d'Orleans  striding  in  says:  "For  that,  my  little  actress 
of  the  Francais,  you  should  apply  to  me  in  person." 

To  this  she  falters:  "I — I  thought  that  Monseign- 
eur  Law's  word  might  have  weight  with  you — you  sell 
him  everything!" 

"Even  the  tobacco  tax!"  responds  D'Orleans.  And 
he  and  Uncle  Johnny  grow  very  merry  for  they  have 
just  concluded  the  barter  of  that  revenue. 

A  moment  after  the  Regent  says  cheerily  to  little 
Jeanne:  "And  why  do  you  want  it  ?" 

"Why?  To  avoid  insult.  These  great  ladies  sneer 
at  me!  Give  me  a  title — Sire!  "  cries  Jeanne  in  impet 
uous  voice.  "  That  I  may  flaunt  it  in  the  faces  of  these 
grand  dames  who  despise  an  actress!  Show  them  that 
France  honors  art  as  well  as  blood !  " 


THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER.  187 

"It  is  not  such  a  bad  idea,  your  Highness,"  laughs 
Uncle  Johnny,  who  has  something  here  that  he  can  per 
chance  give,  and  cost  him  nothing.  "It  will  make  an 
artistic  era  in  France,  and  you  will  be  its  hero.  You 
have  brought  the  people  together.  Show  them  that 
literature  and  art  may  hope  for  their  reward,  as  well 
as  trade." 

"Humph!  It  is  rather  nice,  but  royalty  is  not  ac 
customed  to  give  titles  to  beauty,"  mutters  D'Orleans 
consideringly,  "  without  payment."  And  his  eyes  gaze 
admiringly  on  the  lovely  creature  before  him. 

But  Jeanne's  eyes  blaze  in  return ;  she  says  very 
haughty  in  her  despair:  "That  is  an  honor  too  high 
for  my  honor,  Sire!  "  and  would  depart. 

Her  look  makes  Philippe  half  ashamed — he  stam 
mers:  "Payment  of  some  kind.  Perchance  if  Monseig- 
neur  Law  would  add  a  million  to  the  hundred  he  prom 
ises  me  for  the  tobacco  tax " 

"What!  and  rob  my  India  Company?"  cries  the 
financier. 

"Oh,  I'll  give  a  million!  "  whispers  Jeanne.  "I  have 
two — you  can  have  one  of  them!"  At  which  both 
gentlemen  burst  out  laughing,  and  to  their  credit  look 
shamefaced. 

"Egad!  We'll  not  take  the  little  girl's  money  any 
way! — I  am  glad  to  learn  you  are  rich  enough  to 
support  a  title!"  laughs  D'Orleans.  "Well,  on  your 
next  triumph — you  shall  have  one!  " 

"  Then  next  Friday  evening!  "  cries  Jeanne.  "I  play 
a  new  part  for  the  first  time  in  'Za  Surprise  de 
V Amour.'  Come  to  the  Francais. " 

"Why." 

"  Because  that  night  I'LL  WIN  MY  TITLE!  Bring  the 
patent  of  nobility  with  you.  My  God !  how  I  thank 
thee!  You  have  given  me  hope!  "  And  she  bursts 
out  laughing,  crying,  and  hysterical. 

"  Egad  !  if  you  value  it  so  much,  I'll  not  forget  my 
promise,"  says  D'Orleans.  "Will  you  not  come  with 
us  to  the  ffael  An  embryo  baroness  would  look  well 
upon  the  Regent's  arm — or  shall  it  be  a  comtesse  ?  " 

"  No — leave  me  here  !  I  am  thanking  heaven  now  !  " 

And  these  two  old  sinners,  astounded  at  her  words, 
go  silently,  perhaps  even  shamefacedly  away. 


iS8  THE  KING'S  STOCKBROKER. 

CHAPTER    XVIII. 

THE  FEAST  OF  BELSHAZZAR. 

LEFT  to  herself,  la  Quinault,  after  the  first  few  mo 
ments  of  ecstatic  joy,  rises,  and  wiping  away  the  tears 
from  her  blue  eyes  that  now  gleam  with  supreme  hope, 
turns  falteringly  towards  the  fete,  the  music  of  which 
comes  to  her  in  merry  strains. 

Almost  as  she  reaches  the  gay  throng  she  is 
encountered  by  a  grave  veteran,  who,  laying  play 
ful  hand  upon  her  shoulder,  cries:  "Come,  little  Jeanne, 
and  have  a  walk  with  De  Villars.  Egad  !  I  cannot 
look  my  host  in  the  face  from  very  laughter,  when  I 
remember  how  Dillon,  in  the  old  Army  of  the  Rhine, 
used  to  say  the  Chevalier  Lanigan  polished  boots  bet 
ter  than  any  servant  in  the  army.  You  were  one  of  us 
then.  Come  with  your  old  Chief  now.  A  walk  in  the 
moonlight,  little  Jeanne." 

"  With  pleasure, "falters  la  Quinault;  but  something 
in  her  voice — something  in  her  attitude — catches  the 
old  soldier's  eye,  and  he  says:  "  Crying  ?  Who's  been 
wounding  the  feelingsof  my  protegee  ?  " 

"  No  one  !  I — I  cried  from — from  happiness." 

"  Humph  !  a  curious  reason.   Tell  papa  all  about  it  !  " 

And  Jeanne  who  is  accustomed  to  confide  many  of 
her  little  troubles  to  this  old  warrior,  and  who,  per 
chance,  like  many  a  woman,  enjoys  telling  of  triumph, 
babbles  out  to  him  the  story  of  how  the  Regent  will 
make  her,  if  she  is  a  very  good  actress  on  the  coming 
Friday,  a  comtesse  of  France. 

"  Tanner -re  de  Dieu !  a  comtesse!"  ejaculates  De 
Villars,  amazed.  Then  he  says,  gruffly:  "  What  do  you 
want  with  a  coronet  ?  A  comtesse  cannot  tread  the 
boards.  Would  you  bring  discredit  on  our  order  ? 
Wouldn't  the  bills  look  well — '  Phcdre,  by  the  Com 
tesse  Fascination  ? '  What  is  to  be  your  ladyship's  new 
name  ?  " 

"I — I  don't  know — I  don't  care — I  am  to  be  a 
comtesse.  Then  I'll  leave  the  boards.  Why  not — I 
am  rich." 

"Ah,  ha!  For  that  you  must  get  your  guardian's 
permission.  We'll  tell  D'Arnacof  your  coming  honors. 


THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER.  189 

I  saw  him  in  the  crowd,  only  a  minute  ago.  This  will  be 
a  surprise  for  our  colonel  of  Musqueiaires." 

With  military  strides,  he  would  draw  Jeanne  back 
into  the  festival;  but  she  says,  piteously:  "No!  no! 
don't  tell  him — not — not  just  yet!" 

Then  suddenly  tears  come  into  the  lovely  eyes  again, 
and  with  them  to  this  old  tactician  a  suspicion  that  has 
ofttimes  been  in  his  mind.  He  says  shortly:  "You 
have  something  more  to  tell  me? ' 

"No!  " 

"You  must !  " 

"NEVER!" 

"  Well,  I  can  guess.  Papa  De  Villars  is  accustomed 
to  divine  the  strategy  of  men  and  women."  Then  he 
whispers :  ' '  You  love  our  dashing  Raymond !  " 

But  Jeanne,  without  a  word,  slips  from  his  grasp,  and 
runs  away ,  leaving  the  veteran  looking  curiously  after  her. 

This  catechism,  added  to  the  other  emotions  of 
this  night,  makes  Jeanne  unfit  for>festival  this  evening. 
Seeking  Madame  de  Caylor,  and  avoiding  of  all 
men  Raymond  d'Arnac,  she  begs  her  duenna  to  take 
her  home;  which  the  fair  poetess  of  passion  does 
reluctantly  and  grudgingly;  for  supper  is  just  being 
announced.  And  supper  is  the  summum  bonum  of  a 
party  to  ladies  too  ancient  to  attract  the  glance  of 
man.  So  leaving  message  with  a  lackey  to  be  conveyed 
to  Raymond  of  their  departure,  they  are  about  to  go. 

But  chancing  to  meet  Monsieur  de  Moncrief,  that 
gentleman  most  gallantly  escorts  the  ladies  to  their 
carriage  and  puts  them  in,  for  Cousin  Charlie,  though 
he  has  always  been  attentive  to  the  young  actress,  has 
been  devoted  to  her  for  the  past  few  weeks,  even  to 
bribing  one  of  her  maids. 

He  is  just  bidding  them  adieu,  when,  as  ill  luck  will 
have  it,  Lenoir  saunters  up,  and  being  treated  by  Made 
moiselle  Jeanne  quite  debonairly;  she  having  loathed 
the  man  since  he  dared  hint  his  love  to  her;  this  gentle 
man  begins  to  laugh  and  sneer:  "  This  is  rather  early  to 
leave  the  fete — before  supper,  too,  Madame  de  Caylor 
— has  Mademoiselle  been  naughty — has  she  listened  too 
much  to  the  light  words  of  gallants — is  she  to  be 
whipped  and  put  to  bed?  It  is  a  fine  thing  for  the 
Comte  d'Arnac  to  be  both  guardian  and " 


lf)0  THE    KINGS   STOCKBROKER. 

But  he  gets  no  further.  With  flashing  eyes  Jeanne 
whispers,  hoarse  with  passion:  "The  Comte  d'Arnac  is 
my  guardian,  not  my — my  tyrant.  If  he  but  heard 
you,  you  would  get  the  whipping!  " 

"  Oh,  God  of  heaven!  how  I  would  like  him  to  try!  " 
whispers  Lenoir,  the  eyes  of  the  duellist  growing  cool 
and  deadly  in  all  his  passion.  "  Tell  your  guardian  how 
I " 

But  the  carriage  drives  away,  in  it  now  a  frightened 
Jeanne,  for  Madame  de  Caylor  is  whispering  to  her: 
"  For  God's  sake  don't  get  D'Arnac  in  altercation  with 
that  man.  Don't  you  know,  child,  he  is  the  deadliest 
swordsman  in  Paris?.  Ah,  your  words  have  been  most 
dangerous  to  your  guardian !  " 

And  so  they  have. 

Looking  on  Lenoir's  face,  Cousin  Charlie  thinks, 
why  not  another  string  to  my  bow — and  says,  laughing: 
"You  are  a  better  swordsman  with  men  than 
women." 

"If  it  had  been  the  man,"  mutters  Lenoir,  lingering 
longingly  over  his  words. 

"  You  would  have  come  off  no  better  than  with  the 
lady." 

"  D table  !  I  could  kill  him,  as  I  can  any  other  man 
in  France,"  says  Gaston  confidently. 

"Permit  me  to  doubt  not  your  word — but  your 
sword!  I  hardly  think  you  could  do  it!"  suggests 
Monsieur  le  Procureur  with  significant  voice. 

"I  would  wager  my  life  on  it!  " 

"I  will  not  wager  my  life !"  answers  De  Moncrief, 
growing  slightly  pale  though  his  eyes  are  very  eager. 
' '  But  I  will  lay  ten  thousand  crowns  against  your  life  that 
you  do  not  kill  Raymond  d'Arnac  in  open  duel  this 
week — twenty  thousand  that  you  do  not  do  it  by  Friday. 
Do  you  take  my  meaning  ?  " 

" Aye, and  your  money,  too!  "  whispers  Lenoir.  "I 
accept  your  wager — it's  part  of  the  old  Flanders  busi 
ness,  I  presume,"  and  walks  off  laughingly. 

And  Cousin  Charlie,  gazing  after  him,  thinks  very 
contentedly,  "  Here's  another  string  to  my  bow — I 
have  two  now — Quinault's  love  and  Lenoir's  hate!" 

But  two  strings  to  one  bow  sometimes  make  bad 
archery ! 


THE    KING  S   STOCKBROKER.  191 

Not  knowing  the  pleasant  surprises  his  relative  is 
preparing  for  him,  Raymond  gets  through  the  evening 
quite  well,  though  he  receives  his  ward's  message  of 
departure  with  a  very  bad  grace. 

But  this  leaves  him  untrammelled  to  enjoy  the  won 
drous /<?fc  in  its  entirety,  including  a  most  bizarre  effect 
at  supper. 

This  grand  meal  being  announced  by  several  major 
domos,  the  great  pavilions  set  apart  for  this  are  opened. 
A  smaller  one,  being  devoted  to  the  Regent  and  his 
immediate  party,  in  which  are  Cousin  Charlie,  Monseig- 
neur  Law,  the  fair  De  Sabran  and  numerous  gallants 
and  beauties  of  the  Palais  Royal  clique. 

D'Arnac  is  uninvited  to  this  distinguished  table. 
Monseigneur  Law  being  afraid  of  putting  tinder  near 
the  spark — Hilda  is  safer  away  from  this  young  gentle 
man  who  kindles  her  soul. 

But  seated  at  the  head  of  one  of  the  adjoining 
tables,  Raymond  can  look  into  the  Royal  pavilion,  and  gets 
a  little  side  show  that  makes  him  laugh.  He  sees 
Law  buttonholed  by  Clothilde. 

The  fat  widow  receiving  introduction  from  the  Regent 
proceeds  to  pump  the  financier  as  to  the  market,  saying, 
"Don't  sit  down  to  supper  yet;  I  have  so  many  ques 
tions  to  ask  you,  dear  Monseigneur  Law!  " 

' '  Madame, "  remarks  the  comptroller,  ' '  I  never  think 
of  business  when  I'm  hungry." 

"But  you  "must  promise  me  one  thing,"  persists 
the  comtesse,  who  is  a  woman  who  will  not  take  a  hint, 
"You  must  tell  me  when  to  sell." 

"  I  will, "  replies  Uncle  Johnny,  "if  you'll  only  let 
me  eat  now." 

"  Of  course,"  laughs  Clothilde,  "now  that  you  are  a 
good  financier  and  have  promised." 

Then  comes  the  supreme  effect! 

The  guests  have  but  just  sat  down.  One  hundred 
flunkies,  marshalled  in  military  order,  at  Lanty's  word 
of  command,  fire  one  hundred  champagne  corks  in  one 
tremendous  volley. 

This  is  greeted  by  a  cheer,  the  Regent  himself  bravo- 
ing  with  delight  at  this  novel  salute. 

Then  they  fall  to  upon  a  menu  fit  for  a  club  of 
gourmands.  But  in  the  midst  of  the  hilarity,  sud- 


IQ2  THE    KING  S   STOCKBROKER. 

denly  the  guests  pause,  even  with  their  mouths  full, 
the  glasses  at  their  lips. 

For  bowing  down  before  a  gentleman  of  distin 
guished  mien,  comes  Lanty  and  his  father-in-law,  arm  in 
arm.  The  Chevalier  Lanigan  announcing  in  his  proudest 
tones:  "  Room  for  the  Austrian  Embassador — room  !  " 

"  Egad!  "  whispers  the  Regent  to  Monseigneur  Law, 
"  It's  the  new  fellow  his  Most  Imperial  Majesty  of 
Austria  has  appointed.  His  papers  were  presented  to 
me  to-day.  I  hinted  to  him  of  the  fete  by  note,  when 
I  received  his  communication ;  and  here  he  comes  on 
my  invitation." 

Then  he  turns  his  glance  upon  the  approaching 
envoy,  which  is  perchance  fortunate,  as  Uncle  Johnny's 
eyes  now  almost  start  out  of  his  head ;  his  hands  trem 
ble  and  his  face  grows  pale,  for  in  the  Ambassador  of 
Imperial  Austria  he  sees  the  features  that  he  dreads — 
those  of  the  Irishman  who  has  escaped  from  his  toils, 
and  has  come  back,  he  feels  in  his  heart  of  hearts,  for 
revenge  as  unstinted  as  had  been  his  torment. 

Law  sinks  with  a  suppressed  sigh  into  his  chair,  as 
Lanty  proudly  announces:  "The  Envoy  of  his  Most 
Imperial  Highness  of  Austria,  the  Comte  O'Brien  Dil 
lon  of  the  Empire,  and  member  of  the  Order  of  the 
Golden  Fleece." 

As  these  words  fall  upon  their  ears,  Cousin  Charlie 
and  De  Sabran,  who  have  been  engaged  in  happy 
repartee,  suddenly  turn,  and  seeing  the  sight  they  fear 
most  in  all  this  world,  Hilda's  eyes  grow  drooping,  her 
lips  quiver,  and  anguish  comes  over  her  beautiful  face, 
even  as  she  stares. 

And  Cousin  Charlie  loses  his  new  found  boyhood  in 
trembling  fear  and  quivering  apprehension. 

' '  Bedad  !  "  says  Lanty,  stepping  back  and  whisper 
ing  to  Raymond,  "Did  ye  note  their  faces?  It's  a 
rale  feast  of  Belshazzar  !  Begorra  !  they  see  the 
handwriting  on  the  wall  !  " 

But  D'Orleans,  not  noticing  this,  cries  out  in  his 
easy  way:  "  I  am  delighted  to  see  you,  Comte  Dillon  ! 
I  am  glad  to  meet  you  informally  before  your  official 
presentation,  so  that  when  you  come  to  me  as  the  repre 
sentative  of  our  cousin  of  Austria  you  also  come  to 
me  as  a  friend." 


THE   KING'S  STOCKBROKER.  193 

"  By  St.  Patrick  !  Your  Royal  Highness,"  remarks 
Dillon,  easily,  "his  Majesty  of  Austria,  when  he  gave 
me  the  honor,  said:  '  I  give  it  to  you,  my  well-beloved 
general,  not  only  on  account  of  the  prayers  of  Prince 
Eugene,  but  because  of  your  ardent  wish  to  visit 
jour  friends  in  Paris.' ' 

"  You  have  been  here  before  ?  " 

"No,  your  Highness,"  replies  O'Brien,  kissing  the 
Regent's  hand,  and  taking  a  seat  next  D'Orleans,  which 
has  been  reserved  for  him. 

An  answer  which. makes  Law,  Hilda  de  Sabran  and 
Cousin  Charlie  stare  with  astonishment. 

"You  have  never  been  .in  Paris  before?"  gasps 
Uncle  Johnny,  as  he  is  introduced. 

"No,"  answers  Dillon,  quietly,  his  eyes  flaming  into 
the  grey  ones  across  the  table  till  they  droop.  "  But 
to-day  Monsieur  D'Argenson,  your  head  of  police,  as 
he  examined  my  passports,  remarked  that  some  poor 
imposter,  some  dealer  in  the  black  art — presumed  to  use 
my  title  in  your  gay  capital  after  the  battle  of  Bel 
grade,  but  had  been  punished  for  the  imposition.  It 
is  astonishing  how  great  names  are  sometimes  stolen. 
There  was  a  scoundrel  once  masquerading  in  Flanders 
as  your  illustrious  self,  Monseigneur  Comptroller." 

But  this  kind  of  talk  from  the  Austrian  Envoy  does 
not  seem  to  raise  the  spirits  of  Uncle  Johnny,  the  fair 
Hilda,  or  even  Cousin  Charlie,  who  has  only  seen  the  man 
he  betrayed  twice  in  his  life,  and  for  a  moment  has  a 
wild  hope  the  creature  he  ruined  was  really  an  imposter. 

But  De  Sabran 's  face  tells  him  this  is  the  real  man — 
the  real  enemy. 

D'Orleans  does  not  notice  the  sadness  of  his  supper 
table,  as  Dillon  chats  easily  with  him,  giving  him  an 
account  of  his  fights  with  the  Turks,  and  mentioning 
that  the  Chevalier  Lanigan  had  stood  by  his  side  in  many 
a  pitched  battle.  Finally  getting  warm  with  his  sub 
ject  (and  perchance  also  the  generous  vintages  of  the 
banquet),  he  tells  such  stories  of  Lanty's  love  for  plun 
der  that  the  Regent  laughs  till  tears  are  in  his  eyes. 

A  moment  after,  D'Orleans  rises  and  commands 
silence.  Calling  to  the  bride,  he  enraptures  the  fair 
and  plump  Marie,  by  saying:  "  My  dear  Lady  Lani 
gan,  I  have  just  heard  such  accounts  of  the  Chevalier's 


194  THE  KING'S  STOCKBROKER. 

conduct  from  his  friend  and  comrade,  Comte  Dillon, 
that  I  congratulate  you  on  gaining  for  your  husband  a 
most  gallant  soldier — only  when  in  his  most  martial 
mood,  lock  up  your  diamonds  and  plate.  I  drink  to  the 
health  of  the  glorious  Lanigan  an'd  his  lovely  bride." 

At  this  the  pavilion  rings  with  shouts  and  clinking 
glasses,  and  Lanty,  rising  to  the  occasion,  says  "Your 
Royal  Highness — I  am  a  modest  man.  In  the  wars 
I  have  captured  everything  from  a  silver  candlestick  to 
a  pretty  girl — but  never  have  I  captured  anything  so 
rich  and  beauteous  as  the  Lady  Lanigan  !  " 

At  which  the  cheers  are  redoubled,  and  the  hilarity 
grows  more  intense,  though  neither  Uncle  Johnny, 
Cousin  Charlie  nor  Hilda  seem  to  join  in  the  mirth. 

And  the  supper  party  soon  after  breaking  up,  in  the 
chance  movements  of  the  crowd,  Hilda  de  Sabran  finds 
herself  face  to  face  with  Comte  O'Brien  Dillon. 

For  a  moment  perchance  she  would  not  speak.  Then 
compelled  by  his  eyes  that  seem  to  dominate  hers,  she 
whispers:  "You  are  here  to — to  claim  me  ?  " 

And  his  voice,  cutting,  clear  and  very  cold,  seems  to 
send  an  icy  chill  down  her  fair  back,  as  he  whispers: 
"When  the  time  comes — yes  !  " 

"As  your  wife  ?"     This  is  sighed  rather  than  spoken. 

"  As  my  faithless  wife  !  " 

This  sends  her  away  from  him  shuddering,  for  his  eyes 
have  an  awful  gleam  now;  they  have  caught  the  sparkling 
jewels  of  the  Turk — the  great  crescent  and  its  lesser  star. 

She  dare  not  claim  protection  from  D'Orleans,  for 
she  dare  not  tell  him  the  truth.  She  cannot  attack  the 
representative  of  Austria  as  she  would  some  common 
citizen  by  the  vile  police  arts  of  Cousin  Charlie. 

From  this  time  on,  the  thought  of  this  man  is  as  a  pall 
to  her  spirits,  though  she  tries  to  be  merry  and  laugh, 
as  she  rides  home  with  the  Regent  and  several  others  of 
his  beauties  and  his  favorites. 

Monseigneur  Law  is  not  of  their  party.  He  is  com 
muning  with  De  Moncrief.  "  We  are  safe  from  him  for 
the  present,"  he  says  to  that  gentleman,  who  has  turned 
a  white  and  piteous  face  upon  him — "As  long  as  we 
dominate  France  we  are  safe  from  everything  !  And  for 
that  purpose  keep  your  wits  at  work,  for  in  the  next  few 
days  will  come  the  crisis." 


BOOK    IV. 

JUGGLING  WITH  FATE. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

THE  THREE  LETTRES  DE  CACHET. 

THIS  prognostication  of^  the  far-seeing  financier  is 
true  in  regard  to  more  cases  than  his  own.  The 
climax  comes  rapidly  on  in  laffaire  Raymond,  which, 
though  Uncle  Johnny  does  not  know  it,  is  very  closely 
connected  with  his  own. 

D'Arnac,  happy  in  the  company  of  his  old  friend, 
rides  home  contentedly  in  the  early  morning  from  the 
great  fete  of  the  Chevalier  Lanigan.  During  the  drive 
O'Brien  sits  opposite  to  him,  talking  most  of  the 
time  with  Madame  de  Chateaubrien,  who  appears  very 
much  interested  in  his  personal  adventures  in  Vienna, 
for  this  is  the  first  time  Mimi  has  seen  the  comrade  of 
her  brother. 

In  all  this  conversation  Dillon  makes  no  mention  of 
his  first  visit  to  Paris.  He  appears  to  ignore  that  awful 
episode  of  his  life. 

The  drive  seems  a  very  short  one  to  Mimi,  and  they 
are  soon  in  front  of  the  great  Hotel  de  Chateaubrien. 

"Where  are  you  stopping,  Dillon?"  remarks  Ray 
mond.  "Tell  me,  so  my  coachman  can  put  you  down, 
and  I  can  call  on  you." 

"  Lanty  obtained  for  me  some  apartments  just  across 
the  river  on  the  Rue  de  Vaugirard,  though  they  are  not 
exactly  in  keeping  with  my  present  rank.  To  tell  you 
the  truth,"  whispers  O'Brien,  "  even  with  my  salary  as 
Ambassador  I  am  too  poor  to  keep  up  my  proper  style 


196  THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER. 

as  representative  of  my  master,  the  Emperor  of  Austria. 
Paris  has  grown  so  expensive." 

Perhaps  guessing  at  his  remark,  perhaps  thinking  it 
will  be  pleasant  for  her  brother,  perchance  thinking  it 
will  be  pleasant  for  herself — for  Dillon's  soft  accent  and 
dashing  conversation  have  interested  the  young  widow 
very  greatly,  Mimi,  who  has  already  alighted,  turns 
back  and  says  in  her  cordial  way:  "Why  not  take  up 
your  quarters  here  ?  We  have  a  great  house — only  a 
third  occupied.  You  will  be  accepting  my  brother's 
hospitality — not  mine — for  he  lives  here  now.  Ray 
mond,  ask  the  comte  to  become  our  guest." 

"  Faith,  ye  do  me  too  much  honor,  Madame  la  Mar 
quise,"  remarks  O'Brien. 

"  Not  as  much  as  you  will  give  us  pleasure,"  returns 
Mimi.  Then  she  adds,  impulsively:  "  Raymond,  ask 
your  old  comrade — join  your  entreaties  to  mine." 
Which  Raymond  does  from  his  heart. 

"Then  by  St.  Patrick,"  replies  the  comte,  "it  is 
very  difficult  to  refuse  a  man  to  whom  I  am  under  so 
much  obligation  as  you." 

"Say  it  is  impossible"  cries  D'Arnac,  "and  come." 

"  Faith,  then  I'll  accommodate  ye.  I'll  move,  in  to 
morrow.  Don't  call  to  see  me — I  will  be  with  ye  first, 
if  ye  don't  mind  me  hoisting  the  Austrian  flag  over  yer 
hotel." 

"Come  flag  and  all,"  laughs  Mimi. 

And  with  many  expressions  of  good  will,  O'Brien 
drives  away,  to  return  next  morning,  and  take  up  his 
quarters,  and  lodge  his  flunkies,  and  hoist  his  flag  at 
the  great  Hotel  de  Chateaubrien. 

He  arrives  in  time  to  join  in  a  late  breakfast,  and 
the  three  make  a  very  pleasant  meal  of  it,  Dillon  look 
ing  perhaps  more  often  than  it  is  good  manners,  for  a 
man  with  even  a  faithless  wife,  at  the  bright  eyes  of  the 
charming  woman  opposite  to  him. 

But  very  shortly  affairs  of  state  take  away  the 
Austrian  Embassador.  He  goes  to  make  his  official 
call  upon  the  Regent  of  France;  and  afterwards, 
curiously  enough,  finds  his  way  to  the  office  of 
Monsieur  d'Argenson,  head  of  police  and  Keeper  of 
the  Seals  of  France. 

While   Dillon    is   doing   this,    Raymond    has   had  a 


THE    KINGS   STOCKBROKER.  197 

hasty  conference  with  his  sister  and  she  has  said: 
"  Delay  no  longer.  Next  Friday  is  your  wedding  day. 
Honor  compels  you  to  do  what  you  suggest." 

So  going  to  a  notary,  D'Arnac,  in  the  presence  of 
that  official,  signs  and  acknowledges  two  documents. 

With  these  he  drives  to  the  house  of  his  old  chief, 
De  Villars,  and  astounds  that  veteran.  After  a 
hearty  grip  of  the  hand  of  the  mare"chal  of  France, 
Raymond  remarks,  getting  to  his  subject  quickly: 
"  Circumstances  have  arisen  that  make  it  impera 
tive  for  me  to  resign  the  guardianship  of  a  young 
lady,  in  whom,  if  I  mistake  not,  you  take  a  great 
interest." 

"Mademoiselle  Quinault?"  ejaculates  the  old  war 
rior,  twisting  his  moustache  rather  nervously.  "Yes, 
I  love  little  Jeanne  as  a  father." 

"Then  be  one  to  her!  "  says  D'Arnac,  and  places 
before  De  Villars  the  documents  he  has  brought 
with  him. 

"What  the  deuce  are  these?"  returns  the  marechal. 

"  One  is  my  transfer  to  you  of  my  guardianship  over 
Mademoiselle  Quinault,  the  other  is  an  order  on  my 
notary  to  deliver  to  you  the  securities  I  hold  for  her 
and  a  memorandum  of  the  same." 

Here  the  older  man  gazes  at  the  younger  one 
curiously,  then  a  sudden  twinkle  comes  into  his  keen 
eyes  and  he  mutters:  "Humph!  I  suppose  you've  just 
discovered,  my  dear  boy,  that  she  is  too  old — and  you 
too  young — for  such  relationship.  That  some  day 
perchance  she  will  marry  ?  " 

"Who?"  In  spite  of  himself  there  is  something  in 
Raymond's  voice  that  makes  De  Villars  start. 

But  the  marechal  says  almost  laughingly;  very 
happy  now,  because  a  problem  that  had  come  into  his 
mind  about  this  young  lady  upon  whom  he  dotes  is,  he 
thinks,  cleared  away.  "As  an  actress  that  would  be 
impossible.  The  unwritten  law  of  the  noblesse  forbids 
it,"  for  De  Villars  is  as  stern  an  upholder  of  rank  and 
etiquette  as  any  man  in  France.  "  But  you  yourself, 
my  dear  D'Arnac,  may  marry  a  comtcsse.  Eh,  my 
boy!" 

"  I  am  going  to,"  replies  Raymond. 

"Of  course!"  laughs  De   Villars.      "Yes,   you  are 


198  THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER. 

right;  under  the  circumstances  it  is-  best  you  are  no 
longer  guardian  to  my  beautiful  ward." 

"You — you  accept  the  office  ?  "  murmurs  Raymond, 
and  despite  himself  his  voice  is  sad. 

"  Certainly!    With  pride  and  pleasure." 

Then  looking  over  the  schedule  of  securities,  De 
Villars  chuckles:  "  You  have  brought  me  an  heiress  to 
dispose  of  in  marriage.  Diable !  what  a  dower  little 
Jeanne'll  have.  Egad!  I'll  look  out  for  Jeanne's 
interests  in  the  marriage  settlements!"  A  moment 
after  he  says:  ".These  stocks  should  be  sold  out.  Their 
price  is  enormous." 

"What  makes  you  think  that  ?  They've  been  going 
up  for  a  year." 

"Even  a  balloon  does  not  ascend  forever." 

"And  now  that  this  is  finished,"  says  the  young  man, 
hesitatingly,  "you — you  have  no  objection  to  my  visit 
ing  your  ward  ? " 

"Of  course  not,  my  dear  boy!"  cries  the  veteran, 
enthusiastically.  "If  the  next  time  you  open  your  lips 
to  Jeanne  Quinault  you  tell  her  of  your  coming  mar 
riage!  "  And  he  gives  Raymond  a  kindly  look;  for  the 
old  gentleman's  doting  love  for  Jeanne  has  made  him 
jump  into  an  awful  error. 

"  I  agree  to  this,"  says  Raymond,  with  a  slight  sigh, 
as  he  thinks  he  is  now  no  longer  guardian  of  the  pret 
tiest  actress  in  France;  though  still  he  wonders  at  De 
Villars'  manner. 

But  the  old  gentleman  goes  on  chuckling  and  laugh 
ing,  and  says:  "  Au  revoir!  I'll  look  after  the  young 
lady's  fortune  now  better  than  you  could  have  done — 
with  love  in  your  head." 

And  Raymond  going  away,  there  are  tears  in  the 
veteran's  eyes  as  he  looks  after  the  young  man,  and 
thinks:  "Egad — this  title  episode  is  a  lucky  one  for 
little  Jeanne.  D'Arnac  could  never  have  married  an 
actress.  As  it  is  I  will  secure  her  fortune  and  remind 
the  Regent  of  her  promised  rank. " 

Thinking  over  this  matter,  De  Villars,  who  has  not 
much  faith  in  the  inflated  stocks  of  Monseigneur 
Law,  drives  off  this  day  to  D'Arnac's  notary,  and 
receiving  from  him  the  securities  of  Mademoiselle 
Quinault  he  sells  them  all  out  at  the  market  rate,  which 


THE    KING  S   STOCKBROKER.  199 

has  now  reached  the  tremendous  price  of  nearly  four 
teen  thousand  livres  per  share. 

And  then,  for  the  old  marechal  is  active  as  a  boy, 
save  when  the  gout  conquers  him,  he  rides  to  the  Palais 
Royal,  and  getting  audience  with  D'Orleans  says: 
"Sire,  I  come  to  ask  a  favor." 

"About  the  army  estimates!"  laughs  Philippe. 
"  Come  to  me  when  I've  received  the  money  for  the 
tobacco  tax  from  Johnny  Law." 

"It  is  not  the  army  estimates — it  is  a  young  and 
lovely  lady." 

"  'A  young  and  lovely  lady !  '  Pardieu  !  you  had  better 
send  her  in  person.  She  can  do  her  begging  better 
than  you,  De  Villars!  " 

"She  has!     Last  night  you  promised  her  a  title." 

"Oh,  that  little  insinuating  Quinault!  "  remarks 
D'Orleans.  "Pardi>  it  kept  me  awake  ten  minutes 
last  night  thinking  what  reason  I  would  give  in  the 
patent  of  nobility,  and  what  the  deuce  the  people  would 
say  about  it.  Shall  I  allege  because  she  makes  me  laugh 
I  make  her  a  comtesse,  or  because  she  makes  me 
cry  ? " 

"Neither!"  replies  De  Villars,  "Announce  it  is 
because  she,  at  the  greatest  personal  risk,  saved  a 
regiment  from  annihilation,  and  gave  the  fortress  of 
Friburg  to  France.  Make  her  La  Comtesse  de  Friburg, 
Sire." 

"  I  will,"  replies  D'Orleans,  "and  I  thank  you  for 
the  idea.  The  motive  will  sound  very  well  on  paper. " 

"Then  you  promise  it  to  me  as  well  as  to  Made 
moiselle  Quinault  ?  "  sa"ys  De  Villars. 

"Yes,  Thursday  night,  I  believe,  at  the  Francais. 
I  promised  if  she  acts  well." 

"Use  your  own  judgment  on  that,  please,"  laughs 
the  veteran  ;  "don't  take  that  of  the  critics!"  And 
goes  away  very  happy  that  this  matter  is  settled. 

So  coming  with  this  news  to  little  Jeanne,  at  her 
apartments  on  the  Rue  de  Conde,  the  old  marechal, 
taking  her  playfully  by  her  little  ear,  says:  "Now,  at 
last  rebel,  you  have  a  master!  I  am  papa  and  guardian 
too!  Behold  this  paper!  D'Arnac  has  turned  you 
over  to  me,  bag  and  baggage — stocks  and  securities — 
but  only,  I  imagine,  for  a  little  time."  Emphasizing 


200  THE   KING  S   STOCKBROKER. 

this  last  with  a  smirk,  the  veteran  goes  on:  "The  young 
gentleman  thought  it  best  under  the  circumstances 
some  one  should  act  as  fatner  to  you,  and  I  agree  with 
him.  As  a  matter  of  form,  give  me  your  written  con 
sent  to  the  transaction,  though  it  is  not  legally 
necessary. " 

"With  pleasure!"  cries  Jeanne,  her  eyes  growing 
very  happy  and  her  face  very  blushing,  for  she  thinks 
this  is  some  preliminary  to  D'Arnac's  asking  a  great 
question  of  her  new  guardian,  that  Raymond  could  not 
conveniently  ask  of  himself — that  is — the  hand  of  his 
ward.  She  says,  hesitatingly,  a  wonderful  redness 
flying  over  her  fair  face:  "He — he  has  said  some 
thing  ?  " 

"  Parbleu  !  I  brought  him  to  book  at  once!  Trust 
De  Villars,  the  strategist!  "  laughs  the  warrior.  "  He 
said :  '  I  ask  you  as  her  guardian,  may  I  call  upon  little 
Jeanne  ? '  I  said :  '  When  you  talk  to  her  of  marriage. ' 
He  said:  '  1  will!  '  Mon  Dieu,  you  are  crying!" 

But  they  are  tears  of  joy,  though  Papa  De  Villars 
does  not  give  Jeanne  much  time  for  emotion  now.  He 
chatters  on:  "  I  have  taken  a  little  liberty  with  your 
fortune,  Mademoiselle." 

"What?" 

"  Sold  out  your  securities." 

"  Oh,  my!  all  my  stocks  and  bonds  ?  "  she  cries. 

"  Yes,  changed  paper  into  dirt.  I'm  investing  it 
all  for  you  in  real  estate.  Egad !  I  got  a  pretty  price 
— two  and  a  quarter  millions;  that  will  be  a  great  dower 
for  you,  Madame  la  Comtesse  de  Friburg!"  And  he 
bows  to  her  in  his  old-time  courtly  way. 

"You  are  sure  ?  "  screams  Jeanne,  springing  up,  but 
growing  pale  and  trembling. 

"I  have  the  Regent's  promise." 

"La — Comtesse — de — Friburg!"  whispers  the  girl, 
her  eyes  burning  like  stars;  then  she- says  suddenly: 
"Why,  that's  the  place  where  I  showed  Comte  Dillon 
and  Raymond  the  mine!" 

"Precisely  !  that's  the  reason  D'Orleans  makes  you 
a  comtesse. " 

"And  not  for  being  a  great  actress?"  ejaculates 
Jeanne;  then  pouts:  "Anyone  could  crawl  through 
gunpowder." 


THE    KING  S   STOCKBROKER.  2OI 

"Anyone  could — but  no  one  would  crawl  through  an 
exploding  mine,"  mutters  the  marechal. 

"And  every  one  would,  but  no  one  could  play  '  La 
Surprise  de  r Amour '  as  I  will  !  "  cries  Jeanne. 
"D'Orleans  may  say  it  is  for  gunpowder,  but  it  shall 
really  be  for  art  !  Even  old  Baron, who  praises  no  one  but 
himself,  said  yesterday  I  was  the  comedienne  of  France. 
I  had  been  questioning  him,  and  he  said  an  actress 
could  easier  go  to  heaven  than  marry  a  noble.  It  is 
astonishing  how  common  people  aspire.  O-o-oh  !  a 
comtesse  !  "  With  this  her  fair  head  is  on  De  Villars' 
old  shoulder,  and  she  goes  to  crying  excitedly  but  com 
fortably. 

"And  is  papa  De  Villars  to  have  nothing  for  all 
this  ?  "  remarks  the  veteran,  trying  to  smooth  the  soft 
golden  tresses  that  float  about  his  grizzled  mustachios. 

"Yes,  papa's  kisses!"  And  she  gives  him  such 
sweet  ones,  that  the  veteran  as  he  goes  away  mutters 
to  himself:  "  Egad  !  that  Raymond  is  a  lucky  fellow  !" 

Waving  adieu,  Jeanne  suddenly  cries  to  him  as  he 
takes  farewell:  "  Next  Thursday  night  if  I  am  not  a 
comtesse,  I  am  not  an  actress  !  "  and  seizing  her  part 
again,  goes  to  studying  like  one  possessed,  knitting  her 
brows,  and  racking  her  brain,  for  new  and  wondrous 
effects  in  brightest  comedy,  and  that  peculiar  pathos  of 
which  Jeanne  is  the  mistress  more  than  anyone  on  the 
stage. 

As  for  the  lucky  D'Arnac,  coming  away  from  his 
interview  he  rather  moodily  thinks :  ' '  Adieu  to  the  most 
charming  friendship  of  my  life  " — and  turning  the  inter 
view  over  in  his  mind  remembers  De  Villars'  remark 
about  the  stock  market.  Sadness  produces  pessimism 
and  he  decides:  "  Lass  said  sell  my  stock  when  I  had 
enough.  The  profit  will  be  almost  five  millions.  That 
makes  me  rich,  even  to-day.  I  sell  my  own  securities 
at  once." 

Soon  after,  Dillon  coming  in,  Raymond  informs  him 
of  his  wondrous  luck  in  stocks,  and  how  he's  going  to 
sell  them  on  the  morrow. 

At  which  that  gentleman  says :  ' '  Give  me  a  chance  in 
your  speculation  also!  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asks  D'Arnac. 

"Well,  I  mean  this.     You  have  only  Uncle  Johnny's 


202  THE    KING  S    STOCKBROKER. 

side  of  the  affair  to  judge  by.  / knou<  what  his  enemies 
are  doing  !  I  will  guarantee  to  you  the  prices  of  to-day, 
if  you  will  let  me  hold  your  shares  three  days  more  and 
make  a  profit  on  them  myself.  I'm  sure  there  will  be 
one." 

"  Why  ? "  asks  Raymond. 

"  Bedad  !  I  presume  it's  betraying  a  confidence — 
but  still  you  have  a  right  to  ask  me  that.  I  have  the 
plans  of  the  other  party.  They  have  grown  tired  of 
depressing  the  securities  of  Monseigneur  Law,  and  now 
have  formed  the  extraordinary  plan  of  boosting  them  up 
to  the  very  heavens  in  the  financial  firmament — so  high 
that  when  the  balloon  breaks  it  shall  crush  everybody — 
even  your  friend  Uncle  Johnny  himself.' 

"  Very  well,  take  your  plunge  for  three  days  with 
the  securities,"  says  D'Arnac.  "If  there's  a  profit 
from  your  advice 

"I'll  give  you  half  of  it  !  "  cries  Dillon,  "  only  I  do 
so  want  to  have  my  finger  in  the  financial  pie  !  " 

"A  quarter  of  your  profits  will  be  enough  for  me," 
says  Raymond,  and  settles  the  affair. 

O'Brien  adding:  "I  know  my  information  is  cor 
rect." 

And  his  idea  is  true. 

Seeing  they  cannot  stem  the  tide ;  with  the  astute 
ness  of  fiends,  De  Conti,  the  Brothers  Paris,  and 
D'Argenson,  have  determined  to  become  bulls,  to 
put  up  stocks  to  such  tremendous  figures  that  no 
commercial  success  on  earth  can  pay  dividends  upon 
the  outrageous  prices  that  they  will  force  them  to,  and 
so  when  the  crash  comes  make  the  fall  greater  and  the 
hatred  of  Monseigneur  Law  stronger,  because  of  the 
enormous  shrinkage  in  values  and  the  fearful  loss 
attendant  therefrom. 

And  word  of  this  being  brought  to  Monseigneur  Law 
(for  he  is  very  well  informed  of  the  plans  of  everybody 
— especially  his  opponents),  this  astute  financier,  who  is 
about  to  announce  that  he  has  purchased  the  tobacco 
revenue  of  France,  which  will  bring  additional  profits 
to  the  India  Company,  fears  that  his  enemies,  acting 
apparently  as  his  friends,  will  put  up  stocks  so  high  that 
when  the  fall  comes  they  will  ruin  him  and  his  great 
scheme  of  France's  colonization  at  one  fell  swoop. 


THE    KING  S   STOCKBROKER.  2OJ 

But  to  foresee  with  Jean  Lass  is  to  act.  Therefore 
he  goes  straight  to  Hilda  de  Sabran — for  he  is  afraid  to 
ask  Phillipe  for  what  he  wants  himself,  thinking,  even 
if  he  explains  the  dangers  that  will  come,  the  Regent 
will  laugh  them  off  and  say:  "Why,  the  higher  they 
put  securities  the  better  for  all  of  us — the  more  money 
in  our  pockets." 

So,  getting  word  with  D'Orleans'  mistress,  Law  says 
to  her:  "  If  you  obtain  for  me  three  lettres  de  cachet  in 
blank  from  the  Regent  you  can  have  from  me  whatever 
favor  you  want." 

"  For  it,  will  you  give  me  safety  from  the  man  I  fear 
most  upon  this  earth?  " 

"Who?" 

"My  husband!  " 

"I  will  try  to  do  so.  The  Austrian  Embassador  is 
very  high — but  I  will  try  to  do  so. " 

f  "  Then  promise  me  that  you  will  work  with  all  your 
subtle  brain  for  this  one  object,  and  I'll  try  to  win  for 
you  what  you  desire  from  the  Regent.  Is  it  a  promise? " 

"Yes." 

Filled  with  this,  the  fair  Hilda  uses  every  art  of 
fascination  on  D'Orleans,  and  is  more  alluring  to  his 
jaded  senses  than  she  has  ever  been  before — even  when 
she  first  burst  upon  his  eyes  in  all  her  youthful  beauty — 
for  now  another  charm  is  added  to  her  others — that  of 
a  curious  timidity,  which  seems  to  Philippe  a  bashful- 
ness — almost  a  modesty;  but  it  is  only  a  trembling 
desire  to  please,  and  so  win  what  will  give  her  protec 
tion  from  this  man  whose  eyes  follow  her  about  the 
courtly  circle  with  a  glance  that  makes  her  shudder  even 
in  her  sleep,  for  at  night  O'Brien  Dillon's  face  makes 
her  dreams  all  nightmares. 

And  on  the  afternoon  of  this  very  Thursday  that 
Mademoiselle  Quinault  had  promised  Philippe  to  make 
her  triumph  at  the  Francais  Hilda  de  Sabran  wins  from 
D'Orleans  a  promise  of  three  of  those  fatal  papers — the 
invention  of  Monsieur  d'Argenson — which  permitted 
the  person  obtaining  them  to  imprison,  in  one  of  the 
State  dungeons  of  France,  the  luckless  individual  whose 
name  was  placed  thereon. 

"Pardi!"  says  the  Regent,  "unless  you  use  these 
with  discretion,  I'll  let  your  enemies  out  very  soon. 


204  THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER. 

Are  they  some  bothering  dressmakers,  or  has  some  one 
been  sneering  at  your  charms,  fair  Hilda?  " 

"  No.  I  have  my  eye  on  the  parties,"  laughs  De 
Sabran.  "  If  you  do  not  like  my  use  of  them,  of  course 
your  signature  that  imprisons  can  set  free." 

"Very  well,"  replies  D'Orleans.  "Will  you  beat 
the  Francais  this  evening  ?  I  have  promised  to  go." 

"Yes." 

"  Then  after  the  performance  they  will  be  handed  to 
you." 

Half  an  hour  later,  Hilda  whispers  into  Lass'  excited 
face :  "I  have  conquered — to-night  the  three  lettres  de 
cachet!"  _ 

"Then  to-night,"  says  the  financier  to  himself,  "  I 
imprison  De  Conti,  though  he  is  a  prince  of  France; 
D'Argenson,  though  he  is  head  of  Police,  and  the  chief 
villain  of  the  Brothers  Paris,  though  he  is  fifty  times  a  mil 
lionaire.  They  will  probably  get  out  in  a  week  or  two, 
but  in  that  time  I'll  put  the  tobacco  tax  before  the  pub 
lic,  and  they'll  not  have  a  chance  to  blow  up  my  balloon. " 
For  these  two  preceding  days  have  made  Monseigneur 
Law  very  nervous.  In  spite  of  him  the  price  of  stocks 
has  gone  up — such  is  the  wildness  of  the  public  and 
the  reckless  bidding  on  the  street — from  fourteen  thou 
sand  livres  a  share  to  sixteen  thousand. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

A  COMTESSE  FOR  A  MINUTE. 

IN  CONSEQUENCE  of  this,  Dillon  comes  to  Raymond 
the  same  Thursday  evening,  and  says  to  him :  "  Bedad ! 
I've  taken  no  chance — I've  sold  out  your  securities. 
There  are  1,200,000  livres  to  share  between  us.  I  feel 
a  little  more  comfortable  now,  and  you  have  five  millions 
to  your  credit  at  the  Royal  Bank  of  France." 

"  Which  I  will  put  into  real  estate!  "  replies  D'Arnac. 
"It  is  the  property  that  a  gentleman  should  own — the 
land  of  his  country." 

"Bedad!  I  will  have  to  spend  a  good  deal  of  my 
nine  hundred  thousand, "  remarks  Dillon,  "  keeping  up 
the  rale  state  of  an  embassador.  But  it  makes  things 


THE    KING  S   STOCkfeROKER.  205 

very  easy  for  me  at  present.  And  I'll  have  an  estate, 
too,  for  estates  are  cheaper  in  the  Empire  than  they  are 
here.  I  have  me  eye  on  a  castle  by  the  banks  of  the 
Danube.  Some  day  you'll  come  and  visit  me  there 
with  the  Comtesse  Julie,  and  perhaps  an  odd  boy  or 
girl  or  two."  For  Dillon  has  by  this  time  learned  that 
to-morrow  is  the  day  of  his  friend's  wedding.  "I  sup 
pose  little  Quinault  will  be  one  of  the  invited  guests  as 
your  ward." 

"The  ward  of  Marechal  de  Villars  now,"  replies 
D'Arnac,  "  but  she  has  been  invited.  I  had  a  battle 
with  the  old  Comtesse  de  Crevecceur  on  the  subject 
to-day." 

This  is  true,  and  a  "cattle  it  had  been,  as  Clothilde 
had  fought  most  vigorously  against  any  invitation  being 
sent  to  the  actress  of  the  Fran9ais,  to  the  ceremony 
that  will  take  place,  not  in  gay  Paris,  but  at  a  beautiful 
villa  near  Versailles,  which  after  the  wedding  will  belong 
to  the  Comte  d'Arnac,  as  the  fete  is  to  be  a  very  private 
one,  the  family  having  as  yet  hardly  gone  out  of  mourn 
ing.  Besides  Clothilde  thinks  Versailles  is  safer,  for 
she  has  still  a  lurking  fear  of  Charles  de  Moncrief. 

So  on  this  Thursday,  Mimi  has  whispered  to  Ray 
mond:  "  Have  you  told  Jeanne  yet  ?" 

"No,"  he  says,  "but  I  am  going  to  see  her  at  the 
Francais  this  evening.  I  received  a  note  from  her 
to-day — one  that  I  cannot  understand.  Can  you  guess 
its  meaning  ?  "  And  he  hands  Mimi  an  epistle  that 
makes  her  eyes  grow  teary  as  she  reads: 
MY  DEAR  GUARDIAN  :  THURSDAY  MORNING. 

No,  Guardian  is  crossed  out.  But  it  is  hard  to  forget  the  title 
that  I  have  given  you  for  the  six  years  in  which  you  have  been 
so  kind  to  one  who  will  never  forget  it.  Papa  de  Villars  hinted 
that  you  would  come  to  me  and  receive  my  thanks  in  person  at 
having  been  such  a  kind  guardian  to 

Your  ex-ward, 

JEANNE. 

P.  S. — Papa  de  Villars  has  the  gout  and  will  not  be  at  the 
Fran9ais  this  evening  to  witness  my  triumph  and  to  take  me 
home.  I  believe  he  relies  on  you  to  escort  me.  J. 

The  tone  of  this  letter  makes  Mimi  start.  Into  her 
head  flies  a  sudden  idea  that  old  Papa  de  Villars  may 
have  made  a  fool  of  himself  in  his  communications  to 
the  young  lady,  who  has  written  this. 


206  THE  KING'S  STOCKBROKER. 

She  says  hurriedly:  "  Raymond,  take  me  to  the 
theatre  with  you.  I  will  talk  to  Jeanne,  and  prepare 
her  for  a  revelation  that  she  may  regard  perhaps 
as  sudden." 

"  Very  well, "  answers  D'Arnac.  "Dillon,  I  think, 
will  come  with  us." 

At  which  Mimi  gives  a  little  blush  and  laughs:  "  If 
we  are  to  have  company,  I  must  look  to  my  toilet," 
and  so  goes  away. 

Some  hours  after  this  Dillon,  his  comrade,  and  the 
Marquise  de  Chateaubrien,  find  themselves  in  a  box  at 
the  Francais,  looking  at  '•La  Surprise  deF  Amour." 

"Heavens!"  whispers  Mimi,  gazing  on  the  stage. 
"  Did  you  ever  see  such  acting  before  ?  Jeanne  is  sur 
passing  herself!" 

Then  the  curtain  falling  on  the  first  act  the  audience 
make  a  tremendous  noise ;  for  la  Qujnault  is  the  great 
comedienne  of  the  time,  and  as  such  the  goddess  of  Paris. 

While  this  is  going  on  Mimi  puts  detaining  arm  upon 
Raymond  and  says:  "  Don't  go  to  the  greenroom  now. 
You  may  make  her  nervous.  It  is  her  first  time  in  the 
part." 

As  for  O'Brien,  his  face  red  with  his  exertions  at 
applauding  la  Quinault,  he  sits  behind  la  Marquise's 
shining  shoulders,  not  caring  to  move.  The  place  is 
too  pleasant  to  him. 

So  the  performance  goes  on. 

Jeanne,  after  one  bright  look  at  Raymond's  box,  de 
votes  herself  to  her  art,  and  perhaps  forgets  everything 
else,  for  she  is  as  one  inspired.  Each  act  is  a  greater 
triumph  than  those  that  come  before  it. 

There  is  only  one  act  more. 

"Egad!"  thinks  D'Orleans:  "The  little  girl  is 
working  for  her  title,  and  gaining  it  too." 

Just  at  this  moment  De  Sabran  being  ushered  into 
his  box,  after  greeting  him,  whispers  anxiously:  "  Sire, 
where  are  they  ?  " 

"What  ? — the  bon-bons  for  your  poodle  ?  " 

"No — the  papers  you  promised." 

But  D'Orleans'  reply  astounds  Hilda.  He  gives  a 
little  start  and  mutters:  " Pardi !  I  had  too  good  a 
dinner  this  afternoon.  I  have  forgotten  them,  and  for 
gotten  the  other  also! " 


THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER.  207 

"  What — the  three  lettres  de  cachet  ?  "  whispers  Hilda 
with  pale  lips.  Her  whole  soul  intent  upon  obtaining 
them  now;  for  she  has  looked  across  the  theatre  and 
seen  Dillon  sitting  in  the  box,  and  his  eyes  have  met 
hers,  and  she  is  working  not  for  Monseigneur  Law — not 
for  power — not  for  wealth — but  for  safety. 

"Wait  here!"  replies  Philippe;  then  adds  ambigu 
ously:  "  I  must  not  disappoint  her  !  " 

Summoning  a  gentleman-in-waiting,  he  goes  hurriedly 
out,  and  the  royal  equipage  being  brought  up,  drives 
rapidly  back  to  the  Palais  Royal,  and  entering  his 
private  sanctum  sees  two  envelopes  addressed,  that  he 
in  his  careless  way  has  left,  and  a  package  of  three 
papers  bearing  the  royal  seal  and  signature  of  France 
— those  which  convey  men's  doom  to  them.  Besides 
these  there  is  another,  bearing  also  the  royal  seal  and 
signature,  the  one  that  is  to  make  la  Quinault  the 
Comtesse  of  Friburg 

Hurriedly  placing  them  in  the  envelopes,  the  Regent 
seals  them  up,  and  coming  out  says  to  the  gentleman-in- 
waiting,  whom  he  has  brought  with  him:  "Give  these 
to  the  two  ladies  to  whom  they  are  addressed,  as  they 
pass  out  of  my  box  this  evening.  Quick !  let  us  hurry 
to  the  Franfais!"  He  does  not  wish  to  lose  one 
sentiment  or  one  laugh  that  comes  from  little  Jeanne 
this  evening,  who  is  acting  as  if  inspired. 

But  though  they  drive  fast  the  curtain  is  just  falling 
as  he  returns.  D'Orleans  is  only  in  time  to  join  in 
the  ovation  that  comes  after  the  play. 

He  says  to  an  official :  "Ask  Mademoiselle  Quinault 
to  attend  me  in  my  box." 

And  Jeanne  coming  in,  radiant,  breathless,  but  agi 
tated  and  curiously  happy,  receives,  as  they  see  her  in 
the  royal  loge,  another  cry  of  bravo  from  the  crowd. 

But  she  has  eyes  for  none  of  it.  Even  as  she  court- 
sies  to  D'Orleans  she  has  eyes  only  for  Raymond. 
She  hardly  notices  De  Sabran — she  has  forgotten  insult 
— she  has  forgotten  triumph — in  that  greater  joy — 
HOPE! 

Almost  unconsciously  she  falters  out  her  thanks  to 
the  Regent,  at  his  honor. 

"Pardi!  don't  thank  me  yet,"  he  laughs.  Then  as 
she  bows  herself  out  of  the  royal  box,  he  says: 


208  THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER. 

"Adieu,  Mademoiselle  Quinault.  When  next  we  meet, 
I  shall  call  you  by  a  new  name." 

As  she  passes  from  the  royal  loge,  the  gentleman- 
in-waiting  hands  her  a  package  that  she  clasps  to  her 
heart,  knowing  she  is  a  comtesse  of  France. 

A  moment  after  D'Orleans  whispers  to  De  Sabran : 
"When  you  leave  the  box  you  will  receive  what  I  prom 
ised.  Be  very  careful  how  you  use  them,  for  I  shall 
require  account  of  what  you  do  with  them. " 

"What  do  you  mean?  "  asks  Hilda. 

"I  mean,"  he  laughs,  "that  I  am  a  fool  to  keep 
my  promises." 

This  making  her  fear  that  he  may  revoke  the  same, 
she  answers:  "With  your  permission,  Sire,  I  will  say 
adieu!  " 

And  she  passing  out,  the  gentleman-in-waiting  hands 
to  her  an  envelope  which  she  clasps  firmly  in  her  hands, 
hoping  it  to  be  her  safety  from  the  man  whose  glances 
she  has  shrunk  from  all  this  evening. 

Coming  out  of  the  theatre,  she  says  to  her  coachman, 
who  has  been  kept  waiting:  "Monseigneur  Law's  as 
quickly  as  possible!  "  and  drives  hurriedly  away. 

At  the  very  door  of  the  greenroom  Jeanne  is  met  by 
Madame  de  Chateaubrien,  who  is  upon  Comte  Dillon's 
arm.  Mimi  says  hurriedly:  "Have  you  seen  Ray 
mond?" 

"  No,  except  in  the  box.  He'll  be  following  his  com 
rade,"  laughs  Mademoiselle,  for  O'Brien  is  just  now 
^giving  her  one  of  his  prettiest  Vienna  bow's.  Then  she 
whispers  into  Mimi's  ears:  "Come  to  my  dressing  room 
and  congratulate?" 

"Con — congratulate?"  stammers  la  Marquise. 

"  Ah,  some  lady's  secret,"  laughs  Dillon,  and  the  two 
ladies  enter  Jeanne's  tiring  room. 

This  is  presided  over  by  Madelon,  la  Quinault's  maid, 
a  pert-looking  minx  De  Moncrief  has  had  in  his  pay 
for  the  last  two  weeks. 

But  Jeanne  is  too  excited  to  notice  her,  and  she  cries, 
ecstatically:  "  Mimi — behold  a  comtesse!  " 

At  which  Madelon  pricks  up  her  ears  and  Madame  la 
Marquise  gasps :  ' '  What  ?  " 

"  Oh,  did  not  Raymond  tell  you  ?  De  Villars  hinted 
it  to  him  two  days  ago.  You  saw  the  honor  the  Regent 


THE    KING  S    STOCKBROKER.  209 

did  me,  by  public  invitation  to  his  box.  He  has  done 
more !  This  package  " — and  she  holds  it  up — "  contains 
my  patent  of  nobility.  I  introduce  La  Comtesse  de 
Friburg!  " 

"  Show  me!  "  cries  Mimi,  eagerly,  for  she  hasn't  time 
to  think  how  this  may  affect  her  brother;  and,  flying 
to  her,  together  they  open  the  packet,  and  stare  amazed 
at  its  contents.  It  is  no  patent  of  nobility  they  gaze 
upon,  but  orders  of  arrest  in  blank,  signed  by  the  Regent 
and  bearing  the  seal  of  France. 

"  Some  mistake!  "  gasps  Jeanne. 

"  Three  lettres  de  cachet !  "  whispers  Mimi,  with  white 
lips. 

"Ah,  I  understand  !  "  cries  Quinault;  "  Meant  for 
Madame  de  Sabran !  We  passed  out  of  the  box  nearly 
together.  A  gentleman-in-waiting  gave  her  a  package 
as  well  as  me.  I  have  her  lettres  de  cachet,  and  she  has  my 
title.  I'll — I'll  tell  the  Regent  his  mistake!  " 

With  the  word,  she  flies  out  of  the  dressing-room, 
runs  through  the  greenroom,  and  by  the  private  entrance 
to  the  auditorium  makes  her  way  to  the  loge  of  the 
Regent. 

The  theatre  is  now  nearly  empty,  and  she  finds 
D'Orleans'  box  deserted.  A  lackey  in  the  Royal  livery 
says,bowing:  "  Madame  la  Comtesse,  His  Highness  has 
just  left,"  for  the  Regent  had  mentioned  her  promotion 
to  his  attendants. 

And,  oh  the  joy  of  it! 

Panting  with  pleasure,  Jeanne  turns  away. 

But  as  she  steps  out  of  the  loge,  Gaston  Lenoir  stands 
before  her.  He  has  come  there  to  ask  some  favor  from 
D'Orleans.  She  would  pass  him  without  a  word,  for  she 
now  fears  this  man — not  for  herself,  but  for  Ray 
mond. 

This  slight  of  unrecognition  adds  to  this  gentleman's  ill- 
temper.  He  says,  sneeringly,  "  Madame  la  Comtesse 
forgets  old  friends. "  Then  an  awful  significance  coming 
into  his  voice;  he  purrs,  "  You  are  seeking  your  lover — 
I  mean  your  guardian  ?  I  am  looking  for  him,  too. 
Take  me  to  the  Comte  d'Arnac,  that  I  may  say  some 
pleasant  things  about  you  to  his  face,  so  I  may  get  the 
whipping.  Tell  your  watch-dog  this!  " 

And,  looking  in  Lenoir's  cold,  steely  eyes,  Jeanne  is 


210  THE    KINGS    STOCKBROKER. 

no  more  anxious  to  see  the  Regent  of  France.  She 
grasps  tightly  the  three  lettres  de  cachet  as  if  they  were 
her  very  life,  but  utters  "no  word  and  turns  away. 

Almost  as  she  brushes  past  Lenoir,  young  D'Aubigne 
comes  hurriedly  to  her  and  whispers:  "  Take  my  arm  a 
moment;"  then  says,  in  a  low  voice:  "  You  will  excuse 
me  if  I  take  the  liberty  of  asking  you  to  do  nothing  to 
excite  that  man  to  any  hatred  of  your  guardian,  Comte 
d'Arnac.  Would  you  also — for  you  can  say  it  and  I 
cannot — ask  my  Colonel  to  be  guarded  in  that  assassin's 
presence  ?  " 

"  You  fear,"  gasps  la  Quinault. 

"  A  great  deal,"  replies  the  boy.  "  Only  yesterday, 
in  our  salle  d1  armes  at  the  Musquetaires,  Lenoir  was 
playing  with  the  foils.  You  know  his  marvelous 
skill  with  them.  And  the  Colonel,  though  he  seldom 
takes  a  hand,  was  persuaded  to  cross  foils  with  him. 
Three  times  I  saw  him  plant  his  button  straight  over 
D'Arnac's  heart.  They  say  he  tried  the  same  trick  with 
poor  De  Grammont,  before  he  killed  him.  Gaston  likes 
to  be  very  sure  of  his  man.  You  will  pardon  me  for 
speaking,  for  I  think  that  it  is  perhaps  on  your  account 
Lenoir  bears  enmity  to  D'Arnac." 

"I — I  thank  you  for  it!  "  gasps  Jeanne;  and  as  the 
young  man  bows  and  turns  from  her  she  clutches  even 
more  tightly  to  her  breast  the  three  blank  lettres  de 
cachet,  and  flies  back  to  her  dressing  room. 

'You  found  the  Regent?"  whispers  Mimi,  rising. 
No!      Is  Raymond  here?  " 
'Not  yet!" 
Ah!" 

'  But  that  does  not  matter  at  present.    You  must  see 
the  Regent  and  return  those  lettres  de  cachet !  " 

But  Jeanne  answers  hoarsely:  " Nmer !  I  throw 
away  my  title.  I  steal  these!" 

"But  is  this  right?"  falters  Mimi,  who  half  thinks 
the  girl  insane. 

"Right?"  cries  Jeanne.  "If  you  see  a  villain 
watching  his  opportunity  under  society's  barbarous 
code,  to  murder  the  man  you  love,  and  heaven  has 
placed  in  your  hands  a  thunderbolt,  is  it  not  innocent 
— nay  just — nay  HOLY — to  let  the  lightning  descend  and 
smite  the  assassin  down  ?  " 


THE    KINGS   STOCKBROKER.  2lt 

With  this  she  is  at  a  table,  and,  writing  very  rapidly, 
has  filled  up  one  of  the  dread  warrants  of  imprison 
ment. 

•'Now,"  she  cries,  "Lenoir,  beware!  The  moment 
you  show  your  fangs  I  smite! — See!  I  mark  this  with 
the  cross  and  make  it  holy!"  and  she  does  so  and  kisses 
it  and  murmurs:  "It  is  my  Raymond's  life" — while  Mimi 
and  Madelon  look  at  her  astounded;  for  in  her  excite 
ment  Jeanne  forgets  her  maid. 

"Raymond's  life?"  cries  la  Marquise.  "What  do 
you  mean! " 

"I  mean  that  the  other  evening  I — I  threatened 
Gaston  Lenoir  that  Raymond  should  chastise  him." 

"  My  God!  that  awful  duellist,"  screams  Mimi — "  My 
brother 

"Is  now  safe;  this  is  my  talisman — I  keep  this  to  im 
prison  the  duellist  and  murderer." 

"But  what  will  you  say  to  Madame  de  Sabran  when 
she  demands  the  return  of  these  ?  "  asks  Mimi,  with 
pale  lips  and  trembling  limbs. 

Nothing !  She  will  not  ask  for  them.  She  wants  to 
humble  me — she  will  destroy  my  patent  of  nobility  and 
wheedle  the  Regent  for  three  more  lettres  de  cachet. 
She  hates  me  because  your  brother  loves  me!  " 

To  this  the  astonished  and  horrified  Marquise  gasps 
out:  "  Loves  YOU  ?" 

"Yes,  he  has  spoken  to  my  guardian  for  me.  He 
has  told  De  Villars  he  would  ask  my  hand  in  mar 
riage!"  But  here  Jeanne  begins  to  falter:  "My 
God !  will  he  forget  now  that  I  have  thrown  away  my 
title  for  his  life.  De  Villars  hinted  to  him  that  I  would 
be  a  comtesse  before  he  spoke.  Will  he  forget  his 
rank — will  he  go  against  all  France — to  marry  the 
actress  who  loves  him  ?  " 

And  Mimi  who  has  on  her  tongue  even  now  the 
words  that  she  has  come  to  speak,  cannot  say  them. 
She  thinks  in  horrified,  half-dazed  way:  "He  who  has 
made  this  misery  must  tell  his  own  tale.  I  cannot 
break  this  noble  heart  who  has  given  up  so  much  for 
him." 

She  says  falteringly:  "Let  me  seek  for  Raymond. 
Even  now  he  may  be  in  altercation  with  that  blood 
hound  who  wants  his  life.  If  so,  I  will  notify  you." 


212  THE    KINGS   STOCKBROKER. 

"And  I  will  use  the  lettre  de  cachet  at  once!"  cries 
Jeanne.  "Don't  fail  to  give  me  news  quick.  Send 
Raymond  to  me — not  here — the  lights  are  going  out — 
at  my  house!  I  will  take  care  of  the  others — but  this 
is  the  one  I  cherish!  See,  the  cross  has  made  it 
holy!  It  is  thy  brother's  life.  He  at  least  will  for 
give  me  for  throwing  away  my  title  for  THIS!"  Then 
suddenly  she  puts  her  hand  upon  Mimi's  arm  and 
whispers:  "No  word  to  Raymond!  Promise!  So  his 
gratitude  shall  not  burden  his  love!" 

"  He  should  know!"  answers  La  Marquise. 

"No!  promise  me!  Oh,  my  God!  if  I  have  destroyed 
my  hope  of  him!"  And  Jeanne  sinks  into  a  chair  and 
her  eyes  have  tears  in  them,  though  she  sheds  them  not. 

But  in  a  moment  two  soft  arms  are  clasped  about 
her,  and  Madame  la  Marquise  de  Chateaubrien  mur 
murs:  "Whatever  you  are  to  the  world — tome  you  are 
acomtesse — my  sister!"  and  kissing  her  she  goes  away. 

Then  coming  to  Comte  Dillon,  who  is  waiting,  Mimi 
puts  her  hand  within  his  arm,  and  tells  him  for  God's  sake 
to  find  Raymond,  and  to  keep  him  away  from  Lenoir 
this  night,  but  not  to  let  him  see  Jeanne  Quinault  until 
she  has  word  with  him. 

So  the  two  leave  the  Fran9ais,  as  its  green  room  is 
deserted  and  its  candles  are  being  put  out. 

And  Jeanne  has  made  a  mighty  guess  this  night! 

Hilda  de  Sabran  arriving  at  the  great  house  of  Mon- 
seigneur  Law  is  shown  into  a  private  room  where 
Charles  de  Moncrief  rises  and  remarks:  "I  have  been 
asked  to  receive  you.  Law  will  be  here  in  a  few 
minutes." 

"  I  had  supposed  1  was  the  most  important!"  remarks 
Hilda  haughtily. 

"  Yes,  but  at  the  moment  other  things  are  important 
also, "  returns  De  Moncrief.  ' 'Monseigneur  Law  is  very 
much  engaged  just  now." 

Curiously  enough  the  great  financier  is  closeted  with 
the  Comte  d'Arnac,  for  he  has  sent  one  of  his  gentle- 
men-in-waiting  first  to  Raymond's  house,  then  to  the 
theatre,  where  he  learns  the  young  general  is  passing 
the  evening.  And  that  messenger,  catching  Raymond 
just  as  he  is  going  into  the  greenroom,  has  whispered 
to  him:  "  Monseigneur  Law  begs  to  see  you." 


THE    KING  S   STOCKBROKER.  213 

"  Is  it  very  important? " 

"  Yes.  and  immediate !  "  replies  the  gentleman.  "  But 
it  will  not  take  you  many  minutes.  1  have  a  carriage 
waiting  for  us." 

So  D'Arnac,  turning  away,  thinks  he  will  join  his  sis 
ter  and  Jeanne  in  the  apartments  of  Mademoiselle 
Quinault. 

Being  driven  to  the  house  of  the  financier,  he  is 
detained  for  some  little  time,  waiting  for  the  great  man 
who  has  some  important  interviews  upon  his  hands. 

But  at  last  Law  comes  to  him  and  murmurs:  "I 
hope  I  have  not  detained  you,  my  dear  general."  Then 
leading  him  into  a  private'  room,  he  speaks  very  hurriedly 
and  earnestly:  "  I  once  told  you  that  I  would  not  tell 
you  when  to  sell  your  stocks.  Now  I  beg  of  you  to  do 
so — not  only  for  your  own  sake,  but  for  that  of  France ! 
You  will  get  nearly  the  top  price,  for  if  the  market  goes 
much  higher,  those  who  buy  from  you  will  never  be  able 
to  take  up  their  purchases.  I  beg  you — sell  your  stocks 
to-morrow." 

"That  I  have  already  done  to-day." 

"  Ah,  it  was  your  sales  that  kept  the  market  down," 
replies  Law.  "  I  had  supposed  it  was  that  long-headed 
old  Chambery. "  Then  he  continues:  "I  also  ask  you 
to  advise  your  ward,  Mademoiselle  Quinault,  to  sell 
what  she  has." 

"  That  was  done  three  days  ago." 

"  And  the  market  stood  all  this  and  never  flinched," 
mutters  Monseigneur  Law.  Then  he  cries  out:  "  My 
heaven !  how  greedy  these  speculators  are !  They  are 
mad — they  are  crazy — they  inflate  my  stocks,  and  think 
I  will  pay  the  dividends  on  any  value  that  they  make 
for  them — no  matter  how  ridiculous — how  enormous !  " 
And  he  laughs  grimly,  but  it  is  a  yellow  laugh. 

"  Is  that  all  I  can  do  for  you  ?  "  remarks  Raymond. 

"  Yes — everything. " 

"  I  thank  you  for  your  counsel,"  says  D'Arnac,  and 
turns  to  go.  But  at  the  very  door  he  pauses  and 
adds:  "The  only  member  of  my  family  whom  your 
advice  could  benefit  now  is  my  aunt,  the  Comtesse  de 
Crevecoeur. " 

"Ah!  the  awful  woman  of  the  Quincampoix!  "  mut 
ters  Lass. 


214  THE    KINGS    STOCKBROKER. 

"Yes!"  replies  Raymond,  "she  has  made  a  large 
fortune — she  has  immense  holdings." 

"She  has?"  cries  Uncle  Johnny  very  eagerly;  and 
D'Arnac  passes  out,  having  done  an  awful  bad  stroke 
of  business  for  poor  Clothilde  de  Crevecoeur. " 

At  the  door  of  Law's  house,  Raymond  is  met  by  Dil 
lon,  who  says:  "I  have  driven  from  la  Marquise 
de  Chateaubrien's.  She  wants  to  see  you.  Do  not  go 
to  Mademoiselle  Quinault  until  you  have  seen  your 
sister." 

While  this  has  been  going  on  Cousin  Charlie  and 
Hilda  have  been  in  controversy. 

Looking  at  de  Sabran,  something  in  her  face  speaks 
to  Charles  de  Moncrief,  and  he  purrs:  "  You  have  won 
— you  have  them}  " 

"Yes,"    she    cries.     "The   three   lettres  de  cachet," 

"Ah,  that  is  what  Law  has  been  wanting.  Let  me 
look  at  them!  " 

"  Only  into  his  hands!  "  she  says,  rebelliously. 

"  Oh,  ho!  We  are  defiant!  "  he  jeers.  Then  whis 
pers:  "  Obey  me — you  know  who  is  master  now — with 
all  your  beauty — it  is  I  who  can  make  the  bird  sing!" 
Meeting  his  glance,  Hilda  becomes  drooping,  but  sullen. 
She  tears  open  the  packet. 

Suddenly  her  eyes  flame;  she  cries:  "  Mon  Dieu  !  a 
miserable  trick!  " 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  One  of  the  Regent's  brutal  jokes.  He  has  sent  to 
me  a  patent  of  nobility  for  Jeanne  Quinault.  My 
God!  he  has  made  her  the  Comtesse  de  Friburg.  Was 
it  to  humble  me — to  flaunt  this  actress  in  my  very 
face?  But  adieu,  Comtesse  de  Friburg!  "  And  before 
Cousin  Charlie  can  lay  his  astounded  hands  upon  her, 
in  a  burst  of  feminine  unreasoning  fury,  Hilda  de  Sab- 
ran  has  burned,  over  a  lighted  taper,  the  patent  of 
nobility  that  was  to  have  made  little  Jeanne  so  happy. 

' '  How  did  this  occur  ?  "  asks  Cousin  Charlie,  stifling  a 
grin. 

And  she  telling  him  what  has  happened  in  the 
Regent's  box,  he  says  suddenly:  "  It  is  only  one  of 
the  careless  mistakes  of  D'Orleans.  Your  three  lettres 
de  cachet  were  placed  in  la  Quinault's  envelope  and  are 
now,  I  warrant  you,  in  that  young  lady's  hands.  Don't 


THE    KINGS    STOCKBROKER.  215 

you  know  she  will  return  them  for  her  patent  of  nobility 
— something  that  would  perhaps  give  her  the  chance  of 
marrying  the  man  she  loves  ?  And  now  you  have 
thrown  Law's  opportunity  away.  Pardieu  !  Idiot — If 
Uncle  Johnny  had  seen  you  !  Go  to  your  house  ! 
Quinault  will  send  a  messenger,  or  perchance  even  come 
in  person  to  rectify  this  mistake." 

"  She  will  not  come  in  person  ?  " 

"  Then  she  will  send.  Go  !  Invent  some  lie  to  get 
those  lettres  de  cachet — or  you'll  have  to  reckon  with 
Boy  Charlie  in  the  matter  !  " 

Then  Hilda  de  Sabran,  sick  at  her-old-man-of-the- 
mountain's  tyranny,  drives  away,  and  De  Moncrief  sits 
waiting — waiting  for  both  the  financier  and  Hilda — 
but  neither  of  them  come,  for  Uncle  Johnny  is  gliding 
about  among  the  large  throng  in  his  great  reception 
room,  and  advising  them  by  deft  hints  to  sell  their 
stocks,  to  which  they  mostly  turn  a  very  deaf  ear; 
the  market  is  now  rising  as  a  tropical  river  under  a 
cloudburst,  and  the  bulk  of  speculators  rarely  sell  upon 
a  rising  market. 

But  after  half  an  hour  passes  Cousin  Charlie  grows 
anxious,  and  drives  himself  to  the  house  of  Madame  de 
Sabran.  Coming  in  to  her  he  says,  authoritatively: 
"  Why  did  you  not  return  ?  " 

And  she  answers:  "There  has  been  no  word  about 
the  three  lettres  de  cachet." 

Then,  even  as  she  speaks,  a  subtle  gleam  of  joy  comes 
over  Charles  de  Moncrief,  and  he  replies:  "I  will  go 
to  the  actress  myself  and  investigate. " 

Into  his  mind  has  come  a  curious  question: 
"Why  is  la  Quinault  keeping  these  documents  that 
will  destroy  ?  Upon  whom  does  Jeanne  wish  to  use  a 
lettre  de  cachet  ?  " 

So  he  goes  away  with  this  idea  in  his  brain,  while 
Sabran  sits  waiting.  She  has  repented  her  rashness 
now,  and  the  fear  of  Dillon  has  come  upon  her  again, 
for  she  remembers  his  look  to  night. 

Soon  afterwards  to  her  comes  in  Uncle  Johnny,  who 
says:  "  Quick  !  the  lettres  de  cachet — I  must  use  them !  " 

But  she  turns  an  affrighted  face  upon  him  and 
mutters:  "  I  did  not  get  them, " 

"  D'Orleans  refused  you  ?  " 


2l6  THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER. 

"Yes,"  she  replies,  and  lies,  for  she  dare  not  tell 
this  man  she  has  thrown  away  what  he  considers  now  is 
vital.  So  she  does  further  damage,  for  had  Hilda  told 
the  truth,  Law's  bright  brain  would  have  found  some 
way  to  get  the  papers  from  la  Quinault. 

"You  amaze  me,"  he  says,  falteringly;  then  his  lips 
give  one  spasmodic  quiver — but  no  more.  After  a 
minute's  consideration,  he  adds:  "There  has  been 
some  strong  influence  brought  to  bear  on  D'Orleans. 
He  is  not  used  to  break  his  promises.  Perhaps  they 
guess  what  was  my  plan.  Now  God  knows  what  will 
happen  !  People  will  not  sell  their  stocks.  They're 
all  greedy  for  more — more — as  if  they  did  not  have 
enough  now  !  If  I  cannot  keep  this  market  from  rising, 
when  the  flood  goes  down  it  will  leave  us  all  high  and 
dry — stranded  in  the  mud  of  over-inflation.  But  mark 
my  words,  Hilda — if  through  any  carelessness  of  yours 
— you  have  lost  those  three  documents  I  built  my  plans 
upon — remember  that  in  destroying  my  chances  of 
success,  you  have  destroyed  your  hopes  of  safety — for 
with  Uncle  Johnny  gone,"  (he  chuckles  grimly)  "who 
will  protect  you  from  your  husband's  rights  over  you  ? 
Not  Philippe  D'Orleans,  I'll  be  bound,  for  he'll  have 
enough  to  think  of  in  caring  for  himself  !  " 

Then  suddenly  he  mutters:  "That  old  woman — 
D'Arnac  said  she  had  great  holdings!  "  and  driving  back 
to  his  house  he  sends,  late  as  it  is,  a  messenger  begging 
to  have  word  with  the  Comtesse  de  Crevecceur. 

On  hearing  this  request  Clothilde  arises  from  her 
couch  and  comes  fluttering  and  excited  to  the  great 
home  of  Uncle  Johnny  which  is  still  ablaze  with  lights. 

Greeting  her  with  profound  deference  he  leads 
her  from  the  throng  that  still  occupies  his  salon.  Clos 
eted  with  her  he  says:  "Madame,  time  in  finance 
is  so  vital,  I  have  taken  the  liberty  to  call  you  out  of 
your  bed " 

"  To  give  me  the  hint  in  stocks  you  promised,  dear 
Monseigneur  Law?"  cries  Clothilde;  for  the  market 
has  closed  feverishly  and  she  has  a  large  quantity  of 
shares  on  margins,  being  one  of  the  greedy  kind. 

"Yes,  as  it  is  now  certain  I  can  at  last  speak  to  you, 
not  as  to  some  women,  to  whom  I  would  merely  say: 
buy  or  sell,"  replies  Uncle  Johnny  oilily,  "but  to 


THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER.  217 

a  woman  of  business,  who  has  accumulated,  through 
her  own  intuitive  perception  of  the  laws  of  finance,  a 
fortune  that  does  honor  to  the  wisdom  and  sagacity  of 
her  sex.  Madame,  I  address  you  as  I  would  a  brother 
financier." 

"  What  shall  I  do?"  cries  Clothilde  eagerly. 

"Sell!" 

"Sell?  Why,  they're  going  up." 

"Yes!  but  near  the  top.  I  will  show  you  even  our 
books."  And  he  makes  such  a  display  to  the  widow 
that  she  ejaculates:  "Good  gracious!  stocks  are  only 
worth  10,000  livres  a  share,  according  to  you." 

"They  sell  for  16,000  on  the  street,  but  will  pay 
dividends  on  only  10,000.  They  will  go  down.  Do 
you  recollect  the  last  panic? "  remarks  Lass,  remem 
bering  this  woman's  agitation  on  the  day  of  the  raid  of 
the  Brothers  Paris. 

At  this  Clothilde  gives  a  shudder  and  gasps:  "  My 
heaven!  do  you  predict  another  one?"  growing  white 
as  she  speaks. 

"  Worse  than  that  one!  Of  course,  you  must  be 
your  own  judge — but  from  the  books  and  from  what  I 
tell  you  I  think  you  will  agree  with  me." 

"Thank  you,  dear  Monseigneur  Law,"  remarks 
Clothilde.  "I  have  made  up  my  mind.  I  have 
decided  to  SELL!  " 

And  going  home  she 'lies  awake  all  night,  thinking 
how  she  will  get  out  of  her  securities  before  the  terrible 
break  comes,  fearing  she  will  not  get  to  the  Quincam- 
poix  in  time. 

FOR  CLOTHILDE  HAS  DETERMINED  TO  BECOME  A  BEAR! 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE    ONE    MARKED    WITH    THE    CROSS. 

IN  HER  apartments  Jeanne  sits  waiting  for  Raymond, 
who  comes  not.  Suddenly  her  heart  beats  fast,  her 
eyes  grow  expectant;  she  hears  the  sound  of  entry 
upon  the  stairs,  and  says  to  Madelon  (for  Madame  de 
Caylor  has  gone  to  bed):  "  Show  him  in!  "  and  for  one 
moment  thinks  it  is  Raymond. 


2l8  THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER. 

So  Charles  de  Moncrief,  who  enters  in  his  stead,  sees 
what  wondrous  radiance  hope  and  love  can  throw  upon 
a  woman's  face. 

But  as  she  looks  at  him  hope  and  love  resign  to 
some  anxiety  unknown  to  him  who  gazes  on  her.  She 
puts  a  little  hand  to  her  heart  to  stay  its  fluttering. 

His  heart  is  beating  fast  also.  He  gives  one  quick 
fiance  up  at  the  portrait  of  old  Richelieu  that  hangs 
over  the  girl,  as  if  to  draw  inspiration  from  it,  then  goes 
to  business. 

In  his  journey  from  De  Sabran's  house,  Cousin  Charlie, 
according  to  his  wont,  has  been  putting  two  and  two 
together  very  deftly.  He  is  now  prepared  to  act,  and 
Jeanne  assists  him. 

Not  even  waiting  for  his  greeting,  she  says,  eagerly: 
"  You  have  come  from  your  cousin  Raymond  ?  " 

"  You — you  did  not  expect  a  visit  from  D'Arnac  this 
evening  ?  "  laughs  De  Moncrief. 

"Why  not  ?" 

"Why — he — he — has  doubtless  other  matters  on  his 
hands,"  stammers  the  procureur,  feeling  his  ground. 

"  Good  heavens !  the  duel  with  Lenoir!  Find  me  a 
king's  officer!  "  And  in  an  instant  Jeanne  has  snatched 
from  off  her  panting  heart  a  document,  one  of  the  kind 
De  Moncrief  knows  very  well  by  sight,  and,  looking  at 
it,  murmurs :  ' '  This  cross  makes  it  the  holy  one.  Quick ! 
a  king's  officer!  " 

But  now  De  Moncrief  hesitates  no  more.  He  laughs: 
'  It  is  not  duels  Raymond  thinks  of  now,  but 
brides." 

"Brides!  "  And  hope  is  in  Jeanne's  face. 

"Of  course,  BRIDES!  You  know  to-morrow  is  his 
wedding  day,"  says  the  procureur,  struggling  to  keep 
triumph  from  his  voice. 

But  Jeanne's  eyes  now  are  blank.  "  His  wedding 
day!  "  she  murmurs  after  him,  as  a  parrot.  The  words 
seem  to  daze  her.  Then  she  whispers,  slowly,  though 
with  but  little  understanding:  "  Whom  should  he  marry 
but " 

"  The  Comtesse  Julie  de  Beaumont!  " 

"Who?" 

"The  young  lady  he  has  been  affianced  to  for 
years " 


THE    KINGS   STOCKBROKER.  219 

"My  God!  " 

"  The  one  whose  estates  join  his — the  one  his  uncle's 
will  commands  him  to  marry." 

"Julie  de  Beaumont!"  This  is  an  awful  flash  of 
sentiency,  and  Jeanne  suddenly  gasps:  "The  girl  he 
rescued — the  cousin  he  did  not  wish  to  talk  about  to 
me;"  next  mutters,  piteously:  "And  yet  I  can't  believe!  " 

"  I  can  prove  it,"  remarks  De  Moncrief,  more  coolly 
now.  "  At  Versailles  the  Comtesse  de  Crevecceur  gives 
a  fete  to-morrow  night." 

"  I  know — to  which  I  am  invited." 

Then  De  Moncrief  bursts  out,  in  a  tone  of  horror 
(acting  his  part  very  well):  "Oh,  that  cruel  woman! 
That/<?fe  is  the  wedding  !  " 

But  a  more  piteous  cry  comes  up  to  him — that  of  a 
great  soul  in  despair,  gasping  one  word,  "  RAYMOND!  " 

Then,  for  hope  will  have  its  say,  as  well  as  misery, 
Jeanne  murmurs:  "  It — it  cannot  be.  The  invitation 
did  not  say  a  wedding!  " 

"  Of  course  not!  "  laughs  the  procureur.  "  Madame 
la  Comtesse  wishes  the  blow  that  shall  humble  the 
aspiring  actress  to  be  a  sudden  one." 

"  She  wishes  to  humble  me  ?  Yes — yes — I  remember 
— that  night  she  threatened  me — and  that  other 
woman — De  Sabran !  who  hates  me  because  he  loves 
me .' "  And  for  one  moment  Jeanne  still  has  trust,  for 
she  remembers  the  cause  of  Hilda's  hate  and  cries:  "  I 
will  not  believe  !  " 

But  he  goes  chuckling  on:  "Oh,  ho! — yes!  yes!  The 
plot  is  between  them.  I  saw  De  Sabran  destroy  your 
patent  of  nobility.  She  sneered:  'The  Comtesse  de 
Friburg  will  never  marry  the  Comte  d'Arnac,  for  she 
will  never  be  a  comtesse !  '  Clothilde  was  with  her.  She 
jeered  also:  '  Mistress  is  high  enough  for  an  actress!  ' 

But  here  a  white-faced  woman  rises  up  before 
De  Moncrief  and  stays  his  jargon,  for  she  whispers  in  a 
voice  that  makes  him  still:  "The  actress  will  humble 
the  comtesse! " 

"  Yes!  "  he  interjects,  "  Madame  thought  you  would 
enjoy  the  sight — Raymond  in  his  young  bride's  arms!  " 

But  a  white  hand  is  on  his  lips,  as  Jeanne  moans, 
"Enough — enough!"  then  cries:  "Madame  de  Creve- 
coeur  shall  beg  for  mercy  from  the  woman  whose  humilia- 


220  THE    KING  S    STOCKBROKER. 

tion  would  have  been  her  glory.  To-morrowjiight  shall 
see  Madame  la  Comtesse  cringing  to  the  power  of  the 
actress  Jeanne  Quinault!  I'll — I'll  drag  him  from  the 
altar !"  Next  gives  a  piteous  sigh  and  murmurs  brokenly : 
"  But  I  have  not  the  power!  " 

Then  the  tempter  at  her  elbow  laughs:  "  Feel  in 
your  bosom!  Ah!  what  makes  you  start!  There  you 
have  a  power  that  would  tear  a  prince  out  of  a  princess* 
arms!  " 

And  she  gasps:  "  A  lettre  de  cachet !  Use  it  on  HIM? 
Too  horrible!"  Next  whispers:  "Are  you  a  demon  to 
put  such  thoughts  into  my  jealous  soul? " 

' '  Has  he  spared  your  heart?"  murmurs  the  procureur. 
' '  Must  De  Sabran  not  have  been  his  mistress  to  hate 
you?  Have  you  had  the  attention  of  which  she  has  been 
robbed  ?  It  was  his  BRIDE  he  thought  of  when  he 
became  a  prude — not  you  whom  he  had  taught  to 
love." 

But  she  answers  hoarsely:  "  I  have  no  love — I  have 
only  hate  !  " 

And  he  whispers:      "  Quick — the  lettre  de  cachet /" 

"Yes,   before  I  can  repent!" 

And  with  trembling  hands,  and  tears  flowing  from 
her  eyes,  but  still  determined  upon  doing  her  work, 
she  seizes  pen,  and  would  fill  up  another  of  the  dread 
papers  with  the  name  of  Raymond,  Count  d'Arnac. 

AND  WHAT  SHE  HAD  TAKEN  TO  SAVE  SHE  WOULD  USE  TO 
DESTROY. 

But  even  as  the  pen  is  in  her  hand  the  music 
of  Lulli's  "  Amaryllis  "  comes  up  from  a  band  outside, 
and  Madelon  entering  says:  "This  coronet  from  the 
Due  de  Villars  to  the  Comtesse  de  Friburg,  and  a 
serenade  on  her  title  and  the  honor  France  has  done 
her." 

Then  Jeanne  starting  up  glares  upon  the  diamond 
insignia  of  the  rank  she  has  thrown  away,  and  the  gems 
seem  to  mock  her,  and  the  music  seems  to  jeer  her. 
But  for  one  moment  they  make  her  remember  ! 

She  falters:  "These  were  the  strains  that  came  to 
us  the  other  night  as  we  walked  together  in  the  pavil 
ions  of  the  wedding/^,  and  I  thought — my  God  !  he 
loved  me  !  "  and  sinks  upon  a  sofa,  her  hands  twitching 
with  despair. 


THE    KINGS    STOCKBROKER.  221 

"  Quick  !  give  me  the  lettre  de  cachet,  I'll  fill  it  up!  " 
whispers  De  Moncrief,  reaching  for  the  paper. 

But  she, holding  it  from  him,  sobs:  "  I  did  love  him  so 
truly,  so  well — /  can  not  do  this  thing!"  Then  cries: 
"  THERE  MAY  BE  A  DOUBT  !  " 

"  There  shall  be  no  doubt  !  "  he  answers,  "  You  shall 
believe  !  What  will  you  take  as  proof  ?  " 

She  sighs:   "  Raymond's  own  lips." 

And  he  says  desperately:  "  To-morrow  afternoon,  if 
you  will  come  with  me,  you  shall  hear  it. " 

"Then  when  I  do  hear  from  his  own  lips,  you  shall 
have  this  paper.  For  by  my  soul !  HE  SHALL  WED  NO  ONE 
BUT  ME  !  "  she  answers,  her  lips  white,  her  eyes  big  with 
passion. 

And  he,  looking  at  her,  knows  she  will  do  her  word, 
and  would  speak  to  her  again,  but  she  mutters,  hoarsely: 
"  Not  till  then!  Whatever  I  do — you  are  the  greater 
villain!  You  would  destroy  him  from  the  baser 
motive!  " 

And  he  leaves  her  standing,  a  statue  of  revenge! 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

"  USE    THIS,    IN    THE   KING'S   NAME  !  " 

BUT  as  Madelon  attends  De  Moncrief  at  the  entrance, 
he  whispers  inquiringly:  '  'She  has  three  lettres  de  cachet  ? 
She  filled  one  up  with  Lenoir's  name — the  other  two 
are  blank  ?  " 

' '  Yes, "  answers  the  maid.  ' '  The  one  she  wrote  upon 
I  saw  marked  with  a  cross." 

"Yes,  I  noticed  it — the  one  she  kissed  and  fondled 
— the  one  she  loves — the  one  for  which  she  threw  away 
her  title — has  the  cross." 

Then  after  one  second's  consideration  he  says: 
"Girl,  in  the  chances  of  her  toilette  (for  your  mistress 
will  keep  these  papers  with  her)  obtain  an  opportunity 
and  mark  the  other  two  on  the  back  with  a  similar  cross. 
Parbleu!  little  Jeanne  shall  not  play  her  hand  with 
Charles  de  Moncrief  with  marked  cards." 

So  he  passes  into  the  night  to  ponder  on  the  problem 
how  he  can  obtain  from  Raymond's  lips  the  words  he 


222  THE    KING  S   STOCKBROKER. 

wants  in  the  presence  of  the  woman  who  will  avenge 
them,  and  how  to  keep  D'Arnac  from  seeing  her; 
for  if  the  two  come  together  he  guesses  Jeanne  will 
forgive. 

And  in  this  matter  Providence  is  kind  to  Cousin 
Charlie.  Dillon  brings  Raymond  from  the  house  of 
Monseigneur  Law,  straight  to  the  Hotel  de  Chateaubrien. 
Where  Mimi  meeting  him,  tells  him  part  of  what  has 
taken  place  this  evening;  not  of  Quinault's  love  and 
horrible  mistake,  but  of  the  danger  from  Lenoir  the 
duellist. 

Hearing  this,  even  Dillon  looked  serious.  He  says: 
"  Raymond,  are  you  in  practice  ?  " 

"  Pretty  well,  but  not  as  I  used  to  be." 

"  No,  faith,  we  all  get  lazy  as  we  grow  older;  and 
this  divil  I  suppose  keeps  his  hand  in  with  the  foils. " 
Then  after  a  moment's  consideration,  he  adds  very 
earnestly:  "  If  anything  comes  of  this,  promise  to  make 
me  your  second." 

"I  will,"  replies  D'Arnac,  "where  could  I  find  a 
better  ?  " 

"Then  mark  my  words!  "  rejoins  O'Brien.  "  When 
Lenoir  forces  a  quarrel  upon  you,  as  this  fellow  will  do 
some  day,  act  in  the  affair  so  that  he  must  be  the 
challenger.  Bedad!  we  will  choose  pistols — they're 
getting  into  fashion  now.  If  you  were  as  strong  in  the 
arms  and  shoulders  as  I  am,  I  would  nominate  sabres.  Ye 
could  break  down  his  guard!  There's  nothing  like  the 
exercise  of  the — "  Here  he  stops  suddenly,  almost 
trembling,  some  mighty  recollection  coming  over  him, 
and  for  a  time  is  very  silent. 

This  kind  of  conversation  makes  Mimi  very  nervous. 
She  says:  "Don't  put  yourself  in  his  way,  Raymond. 
Remember  your  wedding  to-morrow.  "Promise  me  you 
will  not  go  out  again  to-night." 

"But  I  should  tell  Jeanne  of  my  coming  wedding. 
She  might  think  it  a  slight.  If  she  were  one  of  the 
noblesse  perhaps  I  should  not  be  so  careful.  As  she  is 
an  actress,  I  will  take  good  care  of  her  feelings." 

To  this  Madame  de  Chateaubrien  suggests:  "Tell 
her  to-morrow  morning.  Raymond,  you  know  how 
much  depends  upon  your  being  able  to  wed  Julie 
to-morrow.  You've  preparations  enough  to  make  here. 


THE    KING  S   STOCKBROKER.  223 

The  notary  is  now  in  waiting,  and  has  been  for  the  last 
three  hours." 

Finally  her  entreaties  have  their  effect.  Her  brother 
busies  himself  making  some  last  arrangements  about  his 
property  that  the  marriage  settlements  compel. 

Then  comes  the  next  morning — the  morning  of  the 
wedding. 

They  rise  by  times,  as  they  have  much  to  do,  and  have 
just  finished  a  very  early  breakfast  and  Raymond  is 
looking  at  his  watch  and  thinking :  "I  wonder  if  Jeanne 
will  be  up  by  this  time  ?  " 

When,  to  their  astonishment,  the  Comtesse  de  Creve- 
cceur  is  ushered  in,  red,  panting,  excited.  "  I'm  in  an 
awful  hurry,  my  dear  children,"  she  says.  "  I  have  to 
go  to  the  Quincampoix  at  once." 

"To-day?"  cries  Mimi.  "To-day  you  drive  to 
Villeneuve  to  get  the  bride !  " 

"That  is  what  I  came  about.  It  is  impossible  for  me 
to  go  in  person,"  babbles  Clothilde.  "  Last  night  I  had  a 
very  important  interview  with  Monseigneur  Law.  He 
has  at  last  given  me  certain  information  about  my 
securities." 

"What  did  he  say  ?  '  asks  Raymond. 

"Don't  try  to  pump  a  financier,"  returns  the  female 
speculator,  looking  very  wise  and  very  deep.  Then  she 
whispers:  "  Sell  your  stocks!" 

"  Already  done,"  remarks  D'Arnac,  laughingly.  "A 
bride  is  sufficient  weight  upon  my  mind  to-day,  without 
the  Quincampoix. " 

"You  were  wise  in  that, "says  Clothilde.  "I  say 
sell,  and  Law  agrees  with  me;  but  I  haven't  time  to 
talk  finance.  Mimi,  you  must  furnish  the  escort  to 
Julie.  I  have  a  letter  from  the  dear  child  now.  She 
fears  to  leave  the  convent  unprotected.  She  had  an 
awful  adventure  once  outside  of  the  convent  walls  with 
a  butcher." 

"With  a  butcher!"  cnes  Dillon,  breaking  into 
uproarious  laughter.  "  Faith,  we'll  save  her  from  the 
butcher  till  the  wedding,  eh,  D'Arnac,  me  boy  ?  "  and 
playfully  nudges  Raymond. 

"Oh,  you  needn't  jeer,"  remarks  Clothilde.  "  She 
did  not  fall  in  love  with  the  butcher.  I  suppose  it  was 
some  wild  schoolgirl  freak,  for  which  I  hope  they  gave 


224  THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER. 

her  wholesome  penance.  I  would!  So  Mimi,  you  must 
go." 

"  Impossible!  "  replies  la  Marquise.  "  My  dress  for 
\hefete  this  evening  is  not  yet  tried  on." 

"  Bedad!  "  says  Dillon,  anxious  to  take  any  trouble 
off  Madame  de  Chateaubrien's  mind,  "Raymond, 
supposing  you  and  I  and  D'Aubigne  and  De  Soubise, 
who  is  to  stand  up  with  you  this  evening,  ride  down. 
It  will  not  be  etiquette  to  introduce  ourselves  to  the 
fair  Julie,  but  we'll  just  take  in  Villeneuve  on  our  way  to 
Versailles  and  jog  behind  the  little  comtesse's  coach  at 
a  respectable  distance,  to  see  nothing  befalls  her  on  her 
journey.  You,  Madame  de  Crevecceur,  I  presume,  will 
be  at  Versailles  at  three  o'clock  to  receive  her. " 

"Certainly  by  that  time,"  cries  Clothilde.  "  I'll  have 

sold "but  she  checks  herself  and  says:  "  I  will 

have  performed  my  business  on  the  street." 

"  But,"  Raymond  mutters  to  his  sister,  "  how  will  I 
tell  Jeanne  ? " 

"  Oh,  leave  that  to  me,"  replies  Mimi.  "  I'll  bring 
her  with  me  to  the  wedding."  For  now  she  thinks  that 
it  is  best  for.  her  to  give  the  information.  Some  cruel 
scene  would  probably  arise  if  Raymond  told  Jeanne  of  his 
coming  marriage. 

"Very  well,"  replies  D'Arnac,  "we  have  not  much 
time  to  spare;  it's  ten  miles  further  for  our  ride,"  and 
sends  a  messenger  to  the  barracks  with  a  note  for  De 
Soubise  and  D'Aubigne. 

So  it  comes  to  pass,  about  an  hour  after  this,  that 
Raymond,  with  his  two  young  officers,  in  all  the  gallant 
trappings  and  harness  of  the  Musquetaires,  and  Dillon, 
in  the  uniform  of  an  Austrian  general,  ride  through  the 
Rue  de  Conde\  past  Jeanne's  apartments,  in  which 
D'Arnac,  casting  a  glance,  finds  the  blinds  are  still 
drawn,  and  passing  down  the  road  by  Ivry,  where  the 
Chevalier  Lanigan  now  holds  state,  reach  Villeneuve 
le  Roy  about  eleven  o'clock. 

Two  hours  later,  Madame  de  Chateaubrien  applies 
for  admission  to  Jeanne's  apartments,  but  is  received 
by  Madame  de  Caylor,  who  says:  "Mademoiselle 
Quinault  has  just  driven  away." 

"  Where  ?"  asks  Mimi. 

' '  To  Versailles.     This  evening  she  attends  the  fete  of 


THE    KING  S   STOCKBROKER.  225 

Madame  de  Crevecoeur.  I  wanted  to  go  with  her,  but 
the  invitation  did  not  include  me." 

This  horrifies  Mimi,  she  mutters  to  herself:  "If 
Jeanne  only  sees  my  brother  and  his  bride  before  the 
altar — if  that  tells  her  the  tale!"  and  drives  away, 
determined  to  be  the  first  to  welcome  Jeanne  at  the 
fete,  and  break  the  matter  to  her  somehow,  if  she  can 
not  get  word  with  her  before. 

This  early  departure  of  la  Quinault  has  been  caused 
by  a  little  note  she  had  received  from  Charles  de  Mon- 
crief,  which  had  simply  said : 

At  the  hostelry  of  "The  King's  Arms"  in  Versailles,  at  two 
o'clock,  I  will  prove  the  truth  as  I  promised  you  last  night. 

The  information  that  has  produced  this  note  comes, 
curiously  enough,  from  Madame  de  Crevecoeur  herself. 

Clothilde  has  gone  to  the  Rue  Quincampoix.  The 
market  has  been  firm,  and  she  has  sold  a  good  many  of 
her  securities  at  over  16,000  livres  a  share.  But  under 
her  enormous  sales,  the  market  has  necessarily  some 
what  weakened.  The  price  is  now  below  16,000  and 
she  feels  elated  at  what  she  considers  her  rare  tact  and 
sound  judgment. 

Meeting  Charles  de  Moncrief  in  the  office  of  her 
brokers'  (where  he  has  come  in  hopes  of  finding  her, 
though  this  she  does  not  guess)  Clothilde  has  said  in  the 
playful  assurance  of  success :  "I  am  a  little  wiser  than 
you,  my  nephew.  Some  days  ago  you  advised  me  to 
hold  my  stock.  Now,  see  the  market  weaken!  " 

"  Pardieu!  you  are  successful  in  everything,  even 
with  Raymond's  marriage,  for  which  you  were  kind 
enough  to  send  me  an  invitation  this  evening,"  has 
remarked  De  Moncrief. 

"Oh,  you  know  it  is  his  wedding,  then  ?  " 

"  It  must  be.  To-day  is  the  last  day.  But  you  have 
conquered — I  forgive  you!  Will  it  be  a  grand  affair  ?" 

"No,  a  quiet  one.  You  forget  I  am  still  in  half 
mourning,"  says  the  widow.  "I  sent  the  invitation  to 
you  so  you  could  be  sure  the  ceremony  took  place  as 
appointed.  De  Soubise  will  be  Raymond's  best  man, 
and  young  D'Aubigne  of  the  Musquetaires,  These 
gentlemen  have  just  gone  now  to  escort  the  bride  from 
the  convent." 


226  THE  KING'S  STOCKBROKER. 

"Humph!  Then  they  all  will  be  in  Versailles  this 
afternoon." 

"Certainly.  I  myself  have  engaged  the  best  apart 
ments  in  'The  King's  Arms'  for  them,  'till  after  the 
ceremony,"  replies  Clothilde.  "We  will  see  you  this 
evening  ? "  And  she  laughs — feeling  certain  now — 
right  in  Charles  de  Moncrief 's  face. 

But  she  does  not  give  him  time  to  answer,  for  at  this 
moment  there  is  a  report  that  the  stock  of  the  India 
Company  is  at  15,500  livres  a  share,  and  Clothilde  gets  to 
business  again  selling  everything  she  has  in  the  way  of 
stocks. 

This  outpouring  of  securities  weakens  the  market 
again;  the  quotations  tumble  to  15,000  and  her  brokers 
congratulate  her  upon  having  been  so  far-seeing. 

"  By  Moses!  "  cries  Van  Tamn,  "Madame la  Com- 
tesse,  you  have  a  greater  brain  than  old  Law  himself! 
You  are  a  born  speculator." 

"Am  I  not?"  laughs  Clothilde.  "I  make  money 
whether  the  market  goes  up  or  goes  down.  These 
things  are  not  worth  10,000  livres  a  share.  See  what  I 
will  do!" 

And  with  the  greed  of  the  speculator,  and  the  rash 
ness  of  the  woman  speculator,  she  orders  them  to  sell 
double  the  securities  that  she  had.  For  Clothilde  has 
learnt  in  her  experience  upon  the  Quincampoix,  what 
it  means  to  "sell  stocks  short."  She  is  now  doing  the 
great  bear  act. 

And  these  sales  forcing  the  market  still  further  down, 
the  quotation  comes  to  14,000.  But  this  is  in  the  after 
noon,  and  peoples'  faces  grow  white  and  many  say 
there'll  be  a  panic  before  night;  but  Van  Tamn,  who 
is  a  conservative  old  fellow,  suggests:  "Had  I  not 
better  buy  some  of  those  stocks  that  you  have  sold  and 
have  not  got,  Madame  la  Comtesse  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  cries,  "  sell  more !  I  fill  when  they  reach 
10,000." 

"  Your  written  order  to  that  effect,  Madame  la  Com 
tesse,  "  remarks  the  broker.  Then  he  says :  "  I  presume  I 
shall  keep  the  proceeds  of  all  your  long  stocks  as  mar 
gin,  if  you  will  not  buy  the  stock  of  which  you're  short  ? " 

' '  Certainly  !  To-morrow  morning  they  will  be  lower 
yet.  But  I  haven't  time  to  stay  and  talk  to  you,"  re- 


THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER.  227 

turns  the  comtesse,  for  now  she  must  get  on  her 
way  to  Versailles. 

So  she  drives  away  very  contentedly  from  the  Rue 
Quincanipoix,  to  make  a  pleasant  evening  of  it  in  her 
pretty  villa  near  the  palace  of  the  young  King;  a  num 
ber  of  the  beauties  of  his  youthful  court  having  been  in 
vited  to  the  wedding  festivities  of  Raymond  d'Arnac 
and  Julie  de  Beaumont. 

Looking  over  the  market,  which  has  declined  to  be 
tween  13,000  and  14,000  livres  a  share,  Uncle  Johnny 
thinks  now  is  the  time  to  announce  that  he  has  gobbled 
the  tobacco  revenue  for  the  India  Company. 

He  makes  public  the  edict  of  the  Regent. 

This  is  what  De  Conti,  D'Argenson  and  the  Brothers 
Paris  have  been  waiting  for. 

Then  with  a  roar,  the  greedy  speculators  of  the  Quin 
canipoix  rush  in  to  buy. 

"  Did  you  see  how  that  cunning  old  fox  Law  forced 
stocks  down,  so  he  could  get  more  before  he  gave  out 
the  news  ?  "  is  the  whisper  on  the  street. 

The  stock  of  the  India  Company  commences  to  rise  ! 
higher — higher — HIGHER  ! 

And  Madame  la  Comtesse,  riding  in  easy  mind, 
on  the  soft  cushions  of  her  coach,  along  the 
lovely  road  leading  from  Paris  to  Versailles,  through 
the  beautiful  woods  of  Meudon,  would  writhe 
and  tear  her  hair  and  scream,  did  she  know  what  was 
coming  to  her  and  her  fortune.  For  the  securities  of 
the  India  Company,  even  as  she  drives  into  the  Place 
d'Armes  and  gazes  at  the  great  palace  built  by 
Louis  le  Grand,  are  now  bid  up  on  the  Quincampoix  to 
18,000  livres  a  share — stocks  which  she  has  sold  short — 
shares  which  she  will  have  to  buy  back  by  the  thousands. 

That  afternoon  in  beautiful  Versailles,  at  the  .pretty 
little  hostelry  called  "The  King's  Arms, "  situated  on 
the  main  drive  from  Paris,  almost  where  the  cross-road 
leading  from  Villeneuve  le  Roy  runs  into  it,  Charles  de 
Moncrief  receives  Jeanne  Quinault. 

"You  are  prompt  !  "  he  says.  "I  have  made  every 
arrangement."  Then  shows  the  way  up  a  short  flight  of 
stairs,  to  a  retired  waiting-room,  the  windows  of  which 
overlook  a  little  courtyard  used  in  summer  for  serving 
open  air  refreshments  to  the  guests  of  the  house. 


228  THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER. 

Being  winter  this  is  now  covered  by  window  frames,  whose 
glazed  surfaces  admit  the  light  of  the  sun,  and  keep  out 
the  wind  when  it  is  cold  and  cutting. 

"  If  you  will  wait  here,  through  that  window  will  come 
to  you  the  information  you  seek  "  he  whispers. 

To  which  she  answers  nothing,  only  waves  him  away, 
and  hangs  her  head  as  if  ashamed-.  But  just  as  he  is 
leaving,  she  places  a  little  detaining  hand  upon  his  arm 
and  says  very  quietly,  but  oh  !  so  piteously:  "You  will 
not  trick  me  !  "  Then  suddenly  she  grows  tall,  stern  and 
menacing, and  whispers  in  a  tone  that  makes  him  quake: 
"  For  if  you  do,  BEWARE!  I  have  another!  The  Bastille 
is  as  silent — its  tomb  as  cold  for  you  as  for  him  !  " 

And  so  he  leaves  her,  and  taking  post  in  front  of  the 
house  watches. 

After  a  little,  a  carriage  with  postilions  in  the  liveries 
of  the  Beaumonts,  dashes  past  him,  and  he  laughs: 
"Behold  Julie— the  bride  !  " 

Some  hundred  yards  to  the  rear  of  this,  four  dashing 
cavaliers  come  prancing  on,  and  looking  about,  Dillon 
says:  "Faith,  I  think  this  is  the  inn  where  quarters 
were  engaged  for  us.  We  will  have  a  pleasant  after 
noon  here  till  the  evening  and  wash  the  dust  of  travel 
from  us  inside  and  out." 

As  the  gentlemen  dismount  and  toss  their  bridles  to 
the  stable  boys  who  come  running  out  to  them  De 
Moncrief  strolls  unobserved  away — thinking:  "These 
gentlemen  will  tell  my  story  for  me." 

So  it  comes  to  pass  that  to  Jeanne's  listening  ears  there 
shortly  comes  a  voice  that  makes  her  start  and  wring 
her  hands;  for  it  is  one  she  knows  and  loves  too  well. 

One  quick  glance  from  the  window — she  can't  help 
it — she  must  look  at  him.  Then  a  shudder — for  the 
gentlemen  seated  at  the  table  have  wine  in  front  of 
them,  and  D'Aubigne\  with  a  boy's  recklessness,  has 
cried-:  "A  health  to  the  coming  bridegroom,  Comte 
d'Arnac!  " 

"Faith!"  suggests  Dillon,  "it would  be purtier man 
ners,  me  boy,  to  put  the  bride  first.  I  drink  to  the  little 
Comtesse  Julie!  Bedad!  did  you  see  how  she  looked  at 
us  from  her  carriage  windows!  Diable!  I  don't  think  she 
recognized  the  butcher  in  his  colonel's  uniform — she 
gazed  at  him  too  coquettishly." 


THE   KING  S   STOCKBROKER.  229 

"No,  I'll  warrant  sh'e  didn't,"  laughs  Raymond. 
"  The  butcher  leading  her  to  the  altar  will  be  a  rare 
surprise  to  Julie  this  evening." 

"By  St.  Patrick!  she  looked  too  pretty  to  be  a 
butcher's  bride,"  says  Dillon. 

"But  not  too  pretty  to  be  mine!"  says  Raymond,  and 
his  voice  grows  tender,  as  what  man's  wouldn't,  speak 
ing  of  youth  and  beauty  and  innocence  that  is  to  be  his 
own  this  very  night. 

At  this  there  is  a  whispering  sigh — from  the  panting 
lips  and  the  breaking  heart  above. 

But  just  at  this  moment  into  the  pleasant  party 
walks  Gaston  Lenoir. 

Cousin  Charlie's  wager  of  20,000  crowns  is  an 
object  to  this  man.  The  sword  play  in  the  salle 
cCarmcs  of  the  Musquetaires  has  shown  him  he  has  a 
certain  victim.  The  week  is  growing  short.  He  has 
lounged  about  hoping  to  meet  Raymond  the  night  be 
fore;  but  has  failed  to  see  him  in  any  of  the  cafes  or 
places  of  general  resort. 

This  morning  chancing  to  speak  with  De  Soubise,  that 
gentleman  has  casually  mentioned  that  he  will  spend 
that  afternoon  at  "The  King's  Arms,"  in  Versailles. 
"Ah,  you  go  in  the  evening  to  the  f$te  of  the  Comtesse 
de  Crevecceur — I  go  there  myself/'  remarks  Lenoir. 
"D'Arnac  I  presume  will  be  there?" 

"  Certainly.     He  is  most  important." 

"  And  he  will  be  with   you  at  'The   King's  Arms?" 

"  Probably  in  the  afternoon.  D'Aubigne,  I  believe, 
comes  with  him  as  well  as  the  Austrian  Embassador." 

And  this  information  has  been  enough  to  bring  Lenoir 
this  afternoon  to  Versailles  in  search  of  the  twenty 
thousand  crowns  Cousin  Charlie  had  wagered. 

As  he  enters,  Raymond,  his  glass  almost  at  his  lips, 
sees  him,  and  knows  the  affair  is  upon  him;  for  Lenoir's 
eyes  are  fixed  on  his.  But  as  he  thinks  this  Dillon's 
hand  is  slipped  into  his,  and  he  hears  whispered  in  his 
ear  the  word  "Together!"  And  this  makes  him  very  cool. 

"You  are  drinking  the  bride's  health?  "  says  Lenoir. 
"  Your  bride,  I  believe,  D'Arnac?"  Then  he  jeers: 
"Pardieu!  what  will  your  mistress  say  to  this?" 

"  My  mistress!"  remarks  Raymond  sternly — "I  have 
no  mistress — I  am  not  in  the  fashion!" 


230  THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER. 

"Oh,  I  believe  you  use  another  term.  Ward  is  I 
think,  the  word  you  use.  The  little  actress  of  the  Fran- 
£ais — the  one  who  caught  D'Orleans  himself  last  night, 
so  he  gave  her  a  patent  of  nobility,  it  is  said."  And 
he  would  go  chuckling  on  in  this  hideous  style,  did 
not  Raymond  d'Arnac  rise  up  in  front  of  him  and  say: 
"Dog!  you  lie!  You  slander  as  noble,  as  lovely,  as 
virtuous  a  woman  as  any  who  graces  this  earth!" 

At   this  the  others  have  risen  also. 

"Virtuous!"  jeers  Lenoir.  "Why  at  fourteen  this 
daughter  of  a  mountebank  was  one  of  the  wantons 
of  the  arm !  " 

But  Raymond's  hand  forces  the  rest  of  the  hideous 
words  down  his  throat  and  they  stay  there,  for 
remembering  Dillon's  hint  D'Arnac  has  felled  the  slan 
derer  to  the  earth. 

So  in  the  courtyard  these  men  form  an  awful  tableau 
of  hate  and  death,  and  above  them  a  woman  with 
staring  eyes  is  murmuring:  "He  gives  his  life  for  my 
name  and  to  him  I  would  have  given  this\" 

As     Lenoir  rises  slowly  he  mutters:       "You  know 
what  this  means?  A  la  mort !  " 
'  Of  course!" 

'  When  will  you  meet  me? " 
'  To-morrow!" 
'  Why  not  now  ?" 

Now,  if  you  like!" 

'  Then  D'Aubigne  will  act  for  me!"  says  Gaston  hur 
riedly.  But  the  boy  shakes  his  head. 

"Raymond,  ask  me  to  be  your  second!"  comes 
Dillon's  voice,  dominating  the  scene,  in  its  soft  Irish 
brogue. 

"  Certainly,  I  am  in  your  hands!"  mutters  D'Arnac. 

With  this  O'Brien  remarks:  "Not  quite  so  quick!  We 
are  the  challenged  party.  Time  and  place  belong  to  us, 
the  choice  of  weapons  also,  I  opine.  This  evening  Comte 
d'Arnac  has  a  prior  engagement — Ladies  first,  my  dear 
Monsieur  Lenoir." 

"Well,  have  your  way,  "mutters  Gaston  sullenly.  "As 
none  of  these  gentlemen  seem  anxious  to  act  for  me, 
I'll  have  my  second  with  you  before  the  evening — only 
remember,  it  is  a  la  mort !  "  And  his  eyes  turned  on 
Raymond  mean  death. 


THE   KING'S  STOCKBROKER.  23! 

To  this  D'Arnac  says  slowly:  "I  understand  you  are 
my  aunt's  guest — please  let  no  word  of  this  get  to  her — 
this  evening  we  will  meet  as  before!" 

"But  to-morrow?"  murmurs  the  duellist. 

"As  God  wills!" 

Then  Lenoir  passing  out,  for  a  moment  there  is 
silence,  which  D'Aubigne  breaks  saying:  "My  God! 
he  is  the  deadliest  swordsman  in  France!" 

"I  know  he  is,"  cries  Raymond,  throwing  off  his 
calm.  "But  were  he  the  angel  of  death  I  would  have 
done  it!" 

To  this  Soubise  mutters,  "  Your  wedding — it  is  sad." 
And  Raymond,  jeering  himself,  laughs,  "A  wedding  and 
a  funeral!" 

But  Dillon,  who  has  been  thinking,  breaks  in: 
"Leave  it  in  my  hands,  and  the  D'Arnacs  shall 
have  a  lot  of  christenings  between !  Bedad !  now 
that  we  got  rid  of  unpleasant  company  we'll  toast  the 
bride  agin — and  then  go  on  to  your  aunt's  where  I 
presume  there  are  bridesmaids,  eh!  young  D'Aubigne." 

"  Let's  try  a  game  at  billiards,"  remarks  De  Soubise. 
' '  You,  Dillon,  I  presume  are  up  in  the  new  masse*  shot  that 
is  now  the  rage!" 

To  this  the  Austrian  Embassador  doesn't  answer.  He 
strolls  silently  out,  a  curious  quiver  on  his  lips,  a  kind 
-of  halting  in  his  gait. 

Some  half  hour  after  this,  Charles  deMoncrief  coming 
into  the  little  reception  room,  the  smile  of  success  upon 
his  mobile  features,  sees  a  woman  kneeling,  her  face 
buried  within  her  hands  as  if  in  prayer. 

"You  can  make  confession  to  me?"  he  whispers. 
"  I  was  once  an  abbe  in  the  church,"  then  hurriedly 
exclaims  as  she  makes  no  answer:  "Quick!  I  have 
not  much  time  to  act  now.  Give  me  the  paper!  You 
have  had  proof  enough  ?  " 

"  Too  much — too  much!"  she  moans,  raising  eyes  to 
him  in  which  there  is  some  passion  he  cannot  divine. 

And  he  goes  jeering  on:  "  I  have  just  seen  the  bride. 
She  looks  most  beautiful.  They  will  make  a  happy 
couple." 

But  while  he  laughs  she  has  taken  from  her  bosom  a 
paper,  and  whispered:  "This  bears  the  holy  cross!  You 
are  the  Procureur  du  Roy.  If  I  give  this  document  to 


232  THE   KING'S  STOCKBROKER. 

you,  and  charge  you  to  use  it  in  the  name  of  the  King, 
what  does  the  law  require  you  to  do  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  need  not  fear — I'll  use  it!  " 

"  What  does  the  law  require  ?  " 

"The  law  wisely  decrees  that  I  must  at  once  give  it 
to  the  proper  officers  to  be  executed  on  the  person 
whose  name  appears  within." 

"  And  if  not  ?  " 

"  The  crime  is  treason,  and  its  punishment  is  death." 

"  Then,"  cries  Jeanne,  her  eyes  ablaze:  "  Take  this 
and  in  the  King's  name  use  it!"  And  thrusts  the 
document  into  his  willing  hands. 

And  he  in  triumph  gloating  over  it  cries:  ''This 
bears  the  name  of  Raymond  d'Arnac!  " 

And  she  cries  back  to  him:  "No!  It  bears  the  name 
of  him  who  to-morrow  would  have  murdered  my  love,  for 
my  sake!  That  assassin — your  friend — Gaston  Lenoir!  " 

And  passes  out  from  him,  leaving  him  stricken  with 
despair  and  broken  with  disappointment. 

But  after  a  time,  opening  the  document  in  his 
hand,  in  a  dazed  way,  a  sudden  light  comes  into  his 
eyes;  he  gasps:  "It  is  blank!  By  all  the  gods!  It's 
BLANK!  "  then  grins  and  chuckles:  "  What  a  mistake  ? 
Fate  has  been  kind  to  me  at  last!  To-night  De  Mon- 
crief  triumphs !  " 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 
LA  QUINAULT'S  WEDDING  GIFT. 

DARKNESS  has  descended  upon  Versailles.  The 
lamps  are  twinkling  in  the  gardens  of  the  King. 

Amid  lovely  woods  and  pleasant  grounds  on  the 
Avenue  de  Scra'ux  the  villa  of  the  Comtesse  de 
Crevecceur  is  a  blaze  of  lights.  The  bridal  party,  though 
small,  seems  a  merry  one. 

The  bride  is  already  making  a  sensation.  The  inno 
cence  of  the  convent  injected  upon  the  gay  world  of  the 
court  and  capital  produces  laughter. 

All  has  gone  well  in  the  afternoon. 

Madame  de  Crevecceur,  engaged .  in  the  exigencies 
and  emergencies  of  an  overpowering  toilette  (an  opera- 


THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER.  233 

tion  that  to  a  woman  of  her  portly  build  is  a  tremen 
dous  affair),  has  deputed  Mimi  to  receive  Julie. 

To  that  fashionable  widow  the  convent-flower  is 
announced,  and,  coming  in,  gives  evidence  that  she  is 
innocent  of  the  world,  even  to  its  etiquette. 

And  Madame  la  Marquise  smiles  as  Julie  courtesies 
quite  humbly  to  the  lackeys  who  announce  her,  making 
her  one — two — three — down!  in  schoolgirl  fashion. 
But  the  amusement  is  not  all  of  the  widow's  side. 
After  being  kissed,  the  bride  cries:  "Oh,  what  a 
dress!"  and  looks  at  Mimi  amazed;  for  Madame  la 
Marquise  is  arrayed,  not  as  the  lilies  of  the  field,  but 
as  Parisian  modistes  love  to  robe  women  who  do  not  tax 
their  bills,  and  give  them  carte  blanche. 

"You  like  my  toilet?"  murmurs  la  Marquise, 
blushing  with  pleasure;  for  Dillon  will  be  here,  and  she 
likes  to  look  well  in  his  presence. 

"Like  it?  For  that  lace  ruching  I  would  give  my 
head!  Shall  I  ever  have  one  as  lovely  as  it?  " 

"One  much  more  lovely  is  now  ready  for  you!" 
laughs  the  Marquise. 

"  As  gorgeous  and  with  a  longer  train  ?  "  cries  Julie. 
Then  putting  inspecting  eyes  upon  the  beautiful  woman 
who  stands  before  her,  in  convent  innocence  she  covers 
her  with  blushes,  for  she  giggles:  "Why,  yours  has 
so  much  on  the  ground  and  so  little  on  the  body,  I  should 
think  you  would  be  cold." 

"Come,  Mademoiselle  Ingenue,  and  see!  "  murmurs 
la  Marquise,  and  hurries  this  child  with  candid  tongue 
to  where  the  maids  await  her,  to  robe  her  in  the  white 
cloud  of  gauze  and  tulle,  and  place  the  orange  blosoms 
of  the  bride  upon  her  fair  tresses. 

So  the  fete  comes  on;  the  crowd  is  augmenting 
rapidly.  A  number  of  the  juvenile  beauties  of  the 
court  of  the  boy  king  of  France  mingle  with  gallants 
of  the  oldest  titles  and  proudest  families  in  France. 

Madame  de  Crevecoeur,  receiving  in  gorgeous  toil 
ette,  announces  that  the  ceremony  will  take  place  at 
nine  o'clock  in  the  private  chapel  of  her  residence. 
Clothilde,  successful  in  the  city  to-day,  now  feels  suc 
cessful  at  Versailles ;  this  wedding  that  has  been  her 
ambition  next  to  her  pocket — is  about  to  be  consum 
mated. 


234  THE    KING  S    STOCKBROKER. 

The  gorgeous  trousseau  of  the  bride — the  wedding 
presents  from  the  immediate  members  of  the  family — 
gleam  in  an  adjoining  salon.  The  strains  from  the 
king's  own  band,  most  condescendingly  lent  for  the 
occasion  by  the  boy  monarch,  and  which  is  concealed 
amid  shrubs  and  flowers,  float  through  the  air. 

Clothilde,  glancing  over  a  note,  remarks  to  Raymond 
as  he  stands  beside  her  in  the  gorgeous  trappings  of  the 
Musquetaires :  "How  annoying!  The  Due  de  Villars 
writes  me  that  the  gout  still  claims  him.  He  will  not 
be  here! " 

"  Did  you  tell  him  it  was  my  wedding  ceremony  ?  " 
asks  D'Arnac. 

"  No,  I  only  wrote  the  invitation  as  I  did  to  other 
people.  I  feared  De  Moncrief  then,  but  do  not  fear  him 
now.  Good  heavens!  who  are  these  people?  " 

"The  gentleman  and  lady  whose  hospitality  you 
enjoyed  the  other  evening!  "  laughs  D'Arnac.  "  Don't 
you  remember  him — the  Chevalier  Lanigan  ?  "  for  Lanty 
is  gorgeously  arrayed,  and  his  plump  little  bride, 
gleaming  with  diamonds,  hangs  upon  his  long  arm  as  if 
he  were  the  very  staff  of  life. 

"  Bedad!  "  he  whispers  to  her,  "  hold  up  your  head, 
Lady  Lanigan.  You'll  soon  get  accustomed  to  the 
quality." 

So  he  makes  his  bow  remarking:  "It's  foine  times 
on  the  street  we've  been  having  to-day,  Madame  de 
Crevecoeur. " 

And  his  hostess,  happy  at  the  thought  of  her  grand 
speculation,  laughs:  "  Very  fine  times,  my  dear  Chev 
alier. " 

So  they  agree  in  words,  but  Lanty  knows  what  he 
is  talking  about,  and  Clothilde,  for  her  own  peace  of 
mind,  fortunately  does  not. 

M  Comte!  "  whispers  Lanty,  taking  Raymond  by  the 
ftrm,  -(h^s  the  little  comtesse  recognized  ye  yet  as 
the  butcher  with  the  bloody  coat  ?  " 

*  •  I^Q.  I  have  not  seen  her  yet — she  has  not  yet 
been  brought  down!"  returns  T)'Arnac,  wondering  if 
Julie  will  remember  him  under  his  uniform  of  the 
Musquetaires. 

But  now  there  is  a  hush,  Madame  de  Cr'evecceur  is 


THE    KING  S    STOCKBROKER.  235 

entering  with  the  bride,  and  Raymond,  as  he  turns  and 
glances,  is  enraptured  with  the  sight. 

If  Julie  had  been  graceful  in  her  plain  convent  garb, 
her  fine  feathers  now  make  her  a  finer  bird.  In  tulle 
and  gauze  and  airy  floating  gown,  she  is  a  dream  of  in 
nocence — though  not  the  bashful  innocence  that  brides 
are  wont  to  have.  She  knows  too  little  of  the  world  for 
that. 

At  the  entrance  of  the  room  her  prattle  absolutely 
brightens  the  fat  dowager,  who  has  her  by  the  hand. 
"  Dieu  merci! "  gasps  the  untutored  one.  "I  never 
thought  there  were  so  many  handsome  men  on  earth 
before  ?  Do  you  like  handsome  men  ?  " 

"A  little!  "  laughs  Mimi,  who  has  come  to 
Julie's  side. 

"  Well  I  do  very  much  !     They  love  me,  TOO!  " 

"  What,  already  ?  "  cries  Madame  de  Crevecoeur  with 
an  awful  face. 

' '  Already  four  gallants  followed  me  from  the  convent, 
and  one  I  struck  right  in  his  eyes." 

"  Struck  him!  "  gasps  Mesdames  de  Crevecoeur  and 
de  Chateaubrien  in  one  astonished  breath. 

"  Only  with  my  eyes.  He  was  an  officer  and  wore 
a  uniform,  black  as  the  robe  of  an  abbess — but  it  was 
sparkling  with  golden  things.  And  he  had  such  a  long 
moustache.  Mimi,  do  you  like  long  moustaches  ?  " 

' '  Sometimes,"  giggles  the  widow. 

"Well,  I  do  very  much.  What  kind  of  moustachios 
has  Raymond  ?  Are  they  long  and  soft  ? " 

But  Madame  de  Crevecceur's  stern,  pinching  grasp  is 
upon  the  soft  arm  of  the  bride,  and  with  a  muttered: 
"  Come  in !  they're  waiting  for  you!  "  she  almost  drags 
the  prattling  Julie  into  the  assembly. 

Then  the  young  court  beauties  gather  about  her  to 
be  introduced — one,  the  fair  young  Ducesse  de  Long- 
ville,  remarking:  "It  is  a  shame  they  kept  you  in 
a  convent,  with  your  beauty." 

"Oh,  that  was  to  guard  me  from  the  naughty  men," 
prattles  Julie.  "But  I  am  doing  finely  now.  I  have 
had  four  gallants  already.  Have  you  done  as  well  ? 
Besides,  I  am  to  be  married  now.  Are  you  affianced  ?" 

But  before  Mademoiselle  de  Longville  can  make 
reply,  the  bride  has  turned  to  her  aunt  who  stands 


236  THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER. 

beside  her,  grim  as  the  statue  of  Medusa  with  the 
Gorgon  head,  and  said:  "There's  one  of  my  cavaliers 
— that  one  in  the  black  uniform — the  one  with  the  long 
moustache.  He  is  the  handsomest  of  the  four." 

Suddenly  the  grim  smile  of  Clothilde  changes  to  one 
of  joy.  She  whispers  two  words  in  fair  Julie's  ear  that 
make  her  crimson,  then  beckons  Raymond  up  and  he, 
bowing  before  the  convent  blossom,  kisses  the  girl's 
white  hand  as  Madame  de  Crevecceur  says:  "Behold 
your  bride ! " 

"Oh,  he's  seen  me  before,"  murmurs  Julie.  "He 
followed  my  carriage  to-day;"  then  puts  almost  a 
pleading  hand  upon  his  arm  and  whispers  right  in 
D'Arnac's  ear :  ' '  That  was  because  you  loved  me !  " 

"Loved  you!"  murmurs  Raymond,  and  the  next 
instant  she  knows  his  moustache  is  very  soft  and  his  kiss' 
very  sweet. 

"It's  lucky  that  you  were  the  handsomest  of  the 
four,"  murmurs  the  bride,  archly.  "  Otherwise  I  should 
have  made  you  very  jealous!  " 

"  Oh,  the  dear  child!  "  cries  Madame  de  Crevecceur, 
overcome.  "  Here's  proof  of  my  wise  bringing  up  in 
the  seclusion  of  the  convent.  She  loves  the  man 
selected  for  her  as  soon  as  she  sees  him." 

"  Egad !"  laughs  Dillon,  for  they  have  all  gathered 
about  the  bride.  "It's  lucky  she  saw  the  right  man 
first,  or  your  educational  ideas  might  have  been 
shocked. " 

Catching  his  voice,  Julie  turns  and  babbles:  "Why  this 
is  the  comte — the  gallant  comte — who  rescued  me 
from  that  awful  butcher,  with  the  green  and  bloody 
coat. " 

"Bedad!  "  mutters  the  Chevalier  Lanigan  in  Dillon's 
ear:  "She's  in  love  with  the  soldier  clothes  and  brass 
buttons,  as  many  a  girl  has  been  before  !" 

Here,  fortunately,  Lanty's  voice  is  drowned  by 
laughter  that  comes  up  from  the  crowd;  for  Julie, 
turning  admiring  eyes  upon  Raymond  once  more,  has 
suddenly  cried:  "Where  is  the  priest?  Bring  us  the 
lazy  priest. " 

"Oh,  the  dear,  enthusiastic  child!  "  ejaculates  Mad 
ame  de  Crevecceur.  Then  she  suggests:  "Go,  look 
at  your  trousseau  and  wedding  presents.  Play  with 


THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER.  237 

your  diamonds  till  the  bishop  is  ready  for  the  nuptial 
mass." 

"Diamonds!"  cries  Julie.  "Raymond,  diamonds! 
Come  with  me,"  and  drags  him  to  the  neighboring 
salon  to  look  at  the  beautiful  gewgaws.  Gazing  on 
these,  she  laughs:  "Why,  I  am  more  popular  than  you. 
All  these  lovely  things  seem  sent  to  me." 

"  Except  the  loveliest  of  them  all — and  it  is  mine!" 
mutters  D'Arnac. 

And  she  looks  upon  him  and  her  eyes  grow  happy. 
A  moment  after  she  suddenly  says:  "This  present  is 
for  you,"  and  hands  Raymond  a  letter,  the  handwriting 
of  which  he  knows  very  well. 

Opening  it  he  reads: 

Raymond — I  send  you  with  my  blessing  on  your  wedding 
eve — safety  from  to-morrrow's  fatal  meeting. 

And  he  mutters  to  himself:  "From  Jeanne!  She 
has  learned  of  to-morrow's  duel  !  What  does  she 
mean  ? " 

Then  suddenly  his  manner  grows  even  more  tender 
to  the  clinging  girl  who  stands  beside  him  as  he  thinks: 
"My  bride  to-night,  to-morrow  may  be  a  widow!" 
He  has  little  faith  that  anyone  can  stop  Lenoir's  sword 
after  what  has  passed  this  afternoon. 

How  shall  he  tell  his  bride  of  what  may  come  to  him  ? 
And  the  brightness  of  the  scene,  the  softness  of  its 
music,  its  mirth  and  gaiety  seem  to  him  a  mockery; 
for  the  guests  are  now  treading  the  stately  minuet,  the 
Chevalier  Lanigan  astounding  them  by  some  marvelous 
steps  he  has  imported  from  Ireland. 

Into  this  scene  strolls  Charles  de  Moncrief,  a  cynical 
smile  on  his  face,  arm  inarmwithGaston  Lenoir,  whose 
eyes  have  a  hungry  look  in  them  as  they  gaze  upon 
D'Arnac. 

"You  are  here,  just  in  time,  Monsieur  Lenoir,  and 
you,  too,  dear  Nephew  Charlie,"  remarks  Madame  de 
Crevecoeur,  "to  see  the  happiness  of  my  life  fulfilled, 
and  the  wishes  of  my  poor  husband  consummated.  Con 
gratulate  me  ! " 

'  'After  the  wedding,"  returns  Nephew  Charlie,  suavely. 
"  After  the  wedding,  my  dear  aunt." 

As  for  Gaston,  he  doesn't  go  near  bride  or  groom, 


238  THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER. 

though  even  as  he  chats  court  gossip  with  some  of  the 
fairest  women  in  France  his  glance  is  not  for  them — 
only  for  Raymond.  His  mind  has  but  one  thought. 
In  a  kind  of  hang  dog  bravado  he  has  come  to 
look  upon  the  nuptials  of  this  man  he  will  kill  and  this 
poor  girl  he  will  make  a  widow,  if  God  will  but  suffer 
him. 

It  is  approaching  the  hour  of  the  nuptial  mass, 
when  into  this  bright  scene  is  ushered  Jeanne  Quinault. 

Mimi  meeting  her  even  in  the  toilette  chamber,  before 
she  has  thrown  off  her  wraps,  looking  upon  her  face, 
divines  she  has  already  learned  the  object  of  the  gather 
ing. 

Jeanne  does  not  permit  la  Marquise  to  speak  first. 
She  whispers  hurriedly,  perchance  the  slightest  quiver 
on  her  lips:  "  Is  she  worthy  of  him  ?  " 

"In  youth  and  beauty,  yes;  in  rank  also." 

"Of  course — she  is  a  comtesse,  as  I  was  last  night," 
mutters  Jeanne;  then  sighs:  "In  the  name  of  mercy, 
why  did  you  not  speak  then?" 

"  You  stopped  my  tongue  when  you  confessed  your 
love,"  whispers  la  Marquise.  And  in  a  few  words  she 
explains  the  late  Comte  de  Crevecceur's  will  and  its 
effect  on  Raymond  and  his  bride. 

"Ah,  now  I  see  De  Moncrief's  reason,"  mutters 
Jeanne.  "  To-day  is  the  last  day  !  "  next  says  lightly, 
perhaps  even  mirthfully:  "  Take  me  down,  Mimi.  Let 
me  enjoy  the  wedding  fete  as  the  other  guests  !  " 

For  to-night  Jeanne  is  an  actress  and  will  play  the 
lightness  of  the  comedienne,  if  circumstances  will  but 
permit  her. 

Descending  the  great  staircase  together,  Mademoiselle 
Quinault  is  received  by  the  Comtesse  de  Crevecceur 
with  the  ceremony  her  position  as  hostess  forces  on  her. 

Hand  in  hand  with  Madame  la  Marquise,  the  actress 
moves  away;  Mimi  keeping  close  by  her  side  this  night 
as  if  to  shield  Jeanne  from  any  anguish  the  situation 
may  bring  upon  her. 

Suddenly  la  Quinault's  eyes  begin  to  blaze;  she 
sees  Lenoir  !  Then  they  rove  over  the  assembly  until 
they  come  on  Cousin  Charlie,  as  he  sits  with  placid 
smile  upon  his  face. 

With  a  muttered  "excuse  me,"  she   has  left  Mimi, 


THE   KING  S   STOCKBROKER.  239 

and  is  at  De  Moncrief's  side,  whispering:  "Why  is 
that  villain  still  outside  the  Bastille  ?  Why  ?  " 

"All  in  good  time,"  he  purrs  to  her.  "Wait  and 
behold  your  warrant  executed." 

But  here  Raymond,  seeing  this  lady  who  had  been  once 
his  ward,  and  who  is  still  very  dear  to  him,  comes  hur 
riedly  to  her  with  the  convent  blossom  clinging  to  his 
arm,  and  says:  "Julie,  this  is  my  dearest  friend  ! 
Jeanne,  this  is  my  bride." 

And  Mimi  remarks :  "  This  is  Mademoiselle  Quinault, 
who  has  long  been  Raymond's  ward." 

At  this  Julie  cries:  "La  Quinault — the  great  ac 
tress!"  then  murmurs  as  if  astounded:  "Why,  I 
expected  to  see  you  at  least  six  feet  high.  They  said 
you  were  so  grand  !  And  then  I  thought — you 
will  excuse  me — you  would  be  so  very  fat!  They  said 
you  filled  the  stage." 

"And  so  she  does,  and  men's  hearts,  also, petite /" 
answers  Raymond. 

To  this  Julie  prattles:  "  If  yours  has  escaped  her,  I 
will  give  her  all  the  rest,  my  husband  !  "  and  goes  off, 
hanging  on  his  arm. 

But  even  as  she  turns  away,  she  whispers:  "  I  have 
seen  her  before  !  "  then  suddenly  ejaculates:  "Why,  she 
is  the  lady  who  was  in  love  with  the  butcher  !  " 

As  these  words  reach  his  ear,  D'Arnac's  eyes  meet 
Jeanne's;  and  something  in  Quinault's  look  (for  strive 
how  she  will,  anguish  will  sometimes  dominate  even 
the  comedienne's  smile)  tells  Raymond  that  the  chatter 
ing  of  his  bride  has  told  the  secret  of  a  woman's  heart. 

But  now  the  wedding  march  is  sounding  ! 

Whatever  had  been  his  thoughts  at  any  time  about 
this  being,  who  seems  perchance  more  beautiful  than 
she  has  ever  been  before,  from  this  moment  honor 
shuts  off  even  retrospection. 

"It  is  our  wedding  march,  my  husband  !  "  cries  the 
bride. 

His  wedding  march — and  not  HERS  !  The  agony 
of  it  enters  Jeanne's  soul.  The  soft  music  seems  dis 
cordant  crash.  The  bright  scene  becomes  blurred  to 
her  sight,  for  her  heart  is  crying:  "This  is  the  last  of 
him  !  " 

Then — even  as  the  nuptial  procession  is  forming -to 


240  THE    KING  S   STOCKBROKER. 

go  to  the  little  chapel,  and  Mimi  has  put  one  sympa 
thizing  hand  in  Jeanne's — into  her  misery  comes  one 
bright  ray.  She  is  giving  him  the  life  he  would  have 
thrown  away  for  her  good  name  ! 

Suddenly,  through  flunkies  that  stand  aghast,  and 
ladies  who  scream,  and  gallants  who  lay  their  hands 
upon  their  swords,  a  posse  of  Sergeants  de  Ville  make 
their  way;  their  officer  saying:  "  Madame  laComtesse, 
the  King's  name  is  my  excuse  !  " 

"What  is  this?  '  whispers  la  Marquise,  growing 
pale. 

"It  is  my  gratitude  and  your  brother's  safety!" 
answers  the  actress,  her  eyes  aflame.  "See  the  holy 
cross  upon  the  warrant!  Now  heaven's  thunderbolt  falls 
on  Lenoir,  who  to-morrow  would  have  killed  your 
brother!  " 

"God  bless  you!  "  falters  Mimi. 

But  suddenly  la  Quinault  gasps:  "  They  are  passing 
him !  Do  they  not  know  Lenoir  ?  " 

And  the  scene  becomes  first  cruel  agony — then  awful 
horror! 

Raymond  striding  to  the  •officer  cries:  "  This  is  an 
intrusion,  Sir,  at  such  a  moment!  " 

And  the  lieutenant  answers  him:  "My  duty  per 
mits  no  alternative!  Raymond  d'Arnac,  in  the  King's 
name  I  arrest  you!  " 

At  this  there  is  fear  and  commotion  among  the 
guests,  and  the  bride  is  screaming! 

And  Raymond  is  muttering  astounded:  "Arrest 
ME!" — then  suddenly,  as  if  he  understands:  "Ah,  I  per 
ceive — the  Regent  has  heard  of  my  coming  duel  with 
Lenoir — a  bond  to  keep  the  peace.  Accept  my  hospi 
tality  'till  the  ceremony  is  over  and  I  will,  as  a  matter 
of  form,  report  with  you." 

But  the  policeman  says:  "  My  duty  does  not  permit. 
This  affair  is  too  serious.  Your  arrest  is  on  a  lettre  de 
cachet,  by  which  I  am  ordered  to  convey  you  to  a  state 
prison." 

But  Jeanne  has  broken  away  from  Mimi  and  now  is 
confronting  the  man  crying:  "A  mistake!  This  is  my 
wedding  gift !  That  warrant  is  for  Gaston  Lenoir,  the 
duellist!  I  know  it — it  was  the  one  I  sent — open  the 
paper!" 


THE    KING  S   STOCKBROKER.  241 

" Pardieu\  as  if  I  could  not  read!"  mutters  the 
police  officer,  and  opening  the  warrant  the  name  upon 
the  fatal  paper  reads:  "  Raymond,  Comte  d'Arnac." 

Staggering  back,  Raymond  in  the  laugh  of  despair, 
jeers:  "You  gave  me  safety  from  to-morrow's  fatal 
meeting — safety  in  the  Bastille ;  THIS  is  YOUR  WEDDING 
GIFT!  " 

And  Mimi  is  before  her  faltering:  "Jeanne, 
revenge  upon  the  man  you  last  night  said  you  loved  ?  " 

And  Clothilde  reviles  her  with  hoarse  but  sarcastic 
voice,  crying:  "The  revenge  of  the  mistress  on  the 
bride  J" 

And  he,  her  victim,  has  stabbed  her  with  these  awful 
words:  "To-morrow  I  would  have  given  my  life  for 
your  honor — to-night  you  give  me  for  my  life  a  living 
tomb!  " 

To  which  she  cries  out:  "I  am  innocent!  Forgive! 
As  you  hope  for  mercy  on  the  Judgment  day,  FORGIVE!" 

But  he  scarce  hears  her;  the  bride  is  now  sobbing 
in  his  arms  :  "Raymond,  my  husband,  they  shall  not 
part  us!  I  will  go  with  you  !  " 

My   God  !    he  is  bidding  them  good-bye ! 

They  have  taken  his  sword  from  him,  and  are  hurry 
ing  him  away. 

The  lieutenant  of  police  is  whispering:  "To  the 
Bastille!" 

And  these  dread  words  have  awed  the  company  to 
silence,  which  is  only  broken  by  a  despairing  woman's 
cry:  "  FORGIVE!" 

And    he,  looking  back  at  her,    answers — NOTHING  ! 

Then  to  the  weddingmarch,  the  strains  of  which  still 
float  in  softest  cadence  from  the  flower  screen  of  the 
fete,  they  lead  him  out,  and  Quinault  hears  the  lookers- 
on  whispering  :  "  The  revenge  of  the  actress-mistres's  ! 
Her  charms  have  lured  the  warrant  from  the  Regent  !  ' 

Just  from  behind  her  comes  a  low  snickering  laugh 
she  recognizes. 

With  one  gasping  cry:  "Traitor!  It  is  you  /"  she 
stands  confronting  Charles  de  Moncrief,  who,  looking 
on  her,  smiles  no  more. 

For  she  is  muttering:  "He  did  not  say  pardon. 
Then  why  should  I  forgive.  Is  truth  eternal — is  God 
just  ?  when  such  things  as  you  exist,  to  make  this  goodly 


242  THE    KING  S    STOCKBROKER. 

earth  the  home  of  devils?"  Then  she  cries  hoarsely: 
"But  beware  !  Another  fiend  has  risen  up  in  me! 
VENGEANCE  is  MINE  !" 

From  her  De  Moncrief  shrinks  trembling,  for  he 
remembers  she  has  another  of  those  dread  documents  of 
state  ;  then  quietly  steals  out,  and  drives  as  if  for  his 
life  to  la  Quinault's  apartments  in  Paris. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

AN    ACTRESS*    LOVE  ! 

As  DE  MONCRIEF  turns  away  Dillon's  soft  brogue 
comes  to  Jeanne  in  sarcastic  whisper  :  "  Bedad  !  ye 
shouldn't  play  with  swords  until  ye  know  the  trick  of 
the  weapon !  " 

He  may  sneer,  but  he  believes  ! 

She  turns  to  him  and  answers  desperately  :  "They 
say  I  have  power  with  the  Regent  !  To-night  I'll  test 
it  !"  then  mutters  :  "  Keep  Raymond  out  of  the  Bas 
tille  for  two  hours,  and  I'll  defeat  that  villain  yet !" 

"Begorra  !"  interjects  Lanty,  "this  is  loike  ould 
toimes  !  You  and  I,  Gineral,  can  head  the  gentlemen 
here,  make  a  short  cut  to  the  Paris  road,  and  butcher 
the  police  as  they  come  along  with  the  prisoner." 

But  Dillon  says  :  "  It  is  not  like  old  times.  I  am 
the  Austrian  Embassador,  and  the  Chevalier  Lanigan,  I 
presume,  does  not  wish  to  be  made  an  outlaw  for 
attacking  the  power  of  the  Regent  himself !'' 

"Begob!  I  forgot — I'm  married  and  settled." 

But  Jeanne  cries  :  "  Here  is  a  greater  power  than 
your  sword  !  Overtake  the  police  !  Give  this " — and 
she  pulls  from  her  finger  a  diamond  ring — ''to  their 
leader.  Spend  money  with  them.  Ask  them  to  drink 
at  every  wine  shop  on  the  road.  Delay  them  so  they 
will  not  get  to  the  Bastille  before  eleven  o'clock  to 
night.  Surely  you  can  get  them  to  drink  that  much  in 
a  ten-mile  ride,  dear  Chevalier  Lanigan." 

"By  St.  Patrick  !  I'll  try  it  !"  answers  Lanty,  and 
runs  out  upon  his  errand. 

"Forgive  me,  Jeanne,  that  I  doubted  you  a  second," 


THE  KING'S  STOCKBROKER.  243 

whispers   Mimi,  putting  her  hand  in  hers      Then  she 
says  very  anxiously:   "What  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"This!  Raymond  d'Arnac  shall  not  lose  estates  or 
bride!  Bring  Julie  with  you  to  my  apartments.  Get 
her  there  in  time;  by  eleven  o'clock  at  the  latest." 

But  suddenly  Clothilde  is  upon  her,  crying:  "What 
— abduct  the  bride  also,  wretched  woman?  Perhaps 
you'd  murder  that  dear  innocent.  God  knows  what  an 
actress  will  do! " 

And  she  would  go  on  in  this  strain,  and  perchance 
delay  and  destroy  all,  did  not  suddenly  at  this  moment 
Van  Tamn,  the  stockbroker,  come  agitatedly  in,  his 
garments  disordered  with  the  dust  of  travel,  his  eyes 
wild  with  a  broker's  agony  of  exhausted  margins  and 
ruined  credit. 

Coming  up  to  the  comtesse,  this  old  man,  bowing, 
would  whisper  to  her.  But  she  says  haughtily: 
"Enough,  broker!  No  word  of  business  to-night!" 

Then  he  cries:  "No  word  of  business,  eh?  My  God! 
she  would  put  me  off  and  ruin  me!  Make  good  your 
margins!  They  now  bid  nineteen  thousand  LIVRES  for  the 
India  Company's  shares,  of  which  you  owe  me  many 
thousands!  MORE  MARGINS  OR  I  BUY  YOU  IN!" 

At  these  awful  words,  Clothilde  utters  one  despair 
ing,  ear-piercing  shriek;  then  gasps  "  Nineteen  thousand 
livres ! — that  villain  Law!"  and  falls  prone  and  in 
sensible  and  hors  de  combat. 

Looking  upon  her  with  a  smile  of  disdain,  Jeanne 
mutters  to  Dillon:  "A  carriage,  for  God's  sake!  Take 
me  to  the  Regent,  quick!  " 

As  O'Brien  offers  his  arm,  D'Aubigne  coming  up,  in 
the  eager  way  of  youth,  says:  "I  trust  you,  too.  What 
can  I  do  for  you  this  night?" 

"You  are  an  officer!  "  answers  Jeanne.  "Be  ready 
with  a  fast  horse  outside  the  Palais  Royal  to  take  what 
I  shall  give  you,  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  des  Bonnes 
Enfants." 

"You  will  find  me  ready,  Madame!  "  cries  the  boy, 
and  goes  hurriedly  away. 

Then  Dillon,  cloaking  Jeanne  as  deferentially  as  he 
would  have  done  a  queen  of  France,  escorts  the  actress 
to  her  carriage,  passing  through  the  guests,  most  of 
whom  are  already  going  away  with  astounded  faces. 


244  THE  KING'S  STOCKBROKER. 

Driving  rapidly  to  the  capital,  they  overtake  and 
pass  a  silent  carriage,  surrounded  by  armed  police. 
And  Dillon  remarks:  "Egad!  Lanty  is  doing  his 
work ;  "  for  it  is  traveling  very  slowly. 

As  they  ride  on,  Jeanne  tells  O'Brien  of  the  mis 
chance,  how  it  had  come  about,  and  of  the  trick  of 
Charles  de  Moncrief. 

Some- little  time  after,  they  enter  the  streets  of  Paris, 
and  looking  at  the  two  remaining  documents  that  she 
takes  from  her  bosom,  by  the  flicker  of  oil  lamps, 
Jeanne  sees  a  cross  upon  each  of  them  and 
mutters:  "There  are  more  traitors  than  he!  Who 
did  this  thing?" 

"Bedad  !  some  servant  maid  or  attendant,  whose 
hand  Cousin  Charlie  has  touched  with  gold,"  says 
O'Brien;  "that's  his  sneaking  way." 

Then,  after  a  moment's  pause,  Comte  Dillon,  who 
has  seen,  as  embassador,  a  good  deal  of  the  Palais 
Royal  clique  in  the  last  few  days,  remarks:  "  D'Orleans 
will  be  engaged  in  some  revelry,  and  will  not  care  to 
be  interrupted  in  his  sport." 

"  I  must  have  audience  with  him,  quick  !  How  can 
you  do  it  ?  " 

And  he  answers:  "But  one  man  is  sure  to  get  the 
ear  of  the  Regent  whenever  he  wishes." 

"  Monseigneur  Law!"  she  cries;  then  suddenly 
begs:  "Tell  the  coachman  to  drive  to  the  Place 
Vendome. " 

So  some  little  time  after  ten  o'clock  this  evening, 
they  come  to  the  great  house  of  the  financier,  through 
a  happy  crowd,  who  are  cheering  and  crying  out  with 
joy;  for  the  stock  of  the  India  Company  has  gone  up 
to  such  tremendous  figures. 

And  Monseigneur  Law,  whose  face  is  very  anxious 
now,  has  word  brought  to  him  that  a  lady  and  gentle 
man  desire  an  immediate  interview.  But  he  is  very 
busy,  and  answer  is  returned  by  one  of  his  gentlemen- 
in-waiting  that  the  Comptroller  of  Finance  can  see  no 
one  this  evening. 

At  this  Jeanne  falters  piteously:  "I  must!  Tell 
him  Mademoiselle  Quinault  implores  a  word  !  " 

But  Dillon,  who  is  looking  on  her  face,  and  now  has 
some  pity  in  his  heart  for  her,  though  he  has  been  very 


THE    KING  S   STOCKBROKER.  245 

angry  at  the  mischance  she  has  brought  upon  his  friend, 
fighting  with  his  very  soul,  whispers  to  the  gentleman- 
in-waiting:  "Tell  Monseigneur  Law  that  if  he  will 
give  an  interview  within  a  minute  to  Comte  O'Brien 
Dillon,  he  will  not  regret  it." 

These  words  seem  magic. 

Thirty  seconds  hardly  pass,  before  Law,  in  his  pri 
vate  office,  his  eyes  bright,  through  apprehension,  and 
with  loaded  pistols  concealed  in  the  desk  at  which  he 
sits,  sees  O'Brien  Dillon  almost  support  into  his  pres 
ence  the  trembling  figure  of  the  lovely  actress  of  the 
Franfais,  who  says  in  imploring  voice:  "For  God's 
sake,  save  Raymond  d'Arnac  from  prison  to-night !  He 
saved  your  life  that  evening  at  the  Francais — the  night 
of  my  debut — you  remember.  But  for  him  you  would 
be  dead  now." 

"I  am  pleased  to  do  anything  for  you,  in  my  power  !  " 
murmurs  the  financier.  "  What  do  you  want  ? " 

And  the  affair  being  explained  to  him,  Lass  mutters 
between  his  clenched  teeth:  "So  De  Sabran  lied  to  me 
when  she  said  the  Regent  refused  those  lettres  de  cachet. 
Her  passions  have  perchance  ruined  me  !  " 

' '  Bedad !  as  her  passions  have  made  ye !  "  mutters  Dil 
lon.  Then  suddenly  he  breaks  forth:  "I  never 
expected  to  ask  favor  of  ye,  but  D'Arnac  saved  me 
from  the  galleys  into  which  you  put  me.  My  grasp 
has  been  off  yer  throat  because  I  represent  his  Majesty 
of  Austria.  But  there  w.ill  come  a  time  when  I  am  a 
simple  gentleman  again,  and  then,  my  Uncle  Johnny!" 
and  he  smites  his  palms  together  in  a  longing  kind  of  a 
way,  as  Uncle  Johnny's  hands  tremblingly  steal 
towards  his  pistols. 

"What  do  you  want?"  he  whispers  hurriedly. 

"An  interview  with  the  Regent  at  once!"  gasps 
Jeanne. 

"Impossible!  I  fear  his  Highness  is  at  supper  and 
will  not  be  interrupted!  " 

"  You  must  interrupt  him!  "  cries  Dillon. 

"Why?" 

"Because,  if  you  do  this,  though  I  never  thought 
to  say  these  words  to  ye — if  you  get  from  Philippe 
d'Orleans,  Regent  of  France,  an  immediate  order  for 
the  release  of  the  man  I  love,  ma  bouchal,  so  that 


246  THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER. 

to-night  does  not  rob  him  of  his  estates  or  bride  — 
I'll  promise,  even  though  it  breaks  my  heart — not  only 
to  forgive  ye,  but  to  aid  ye,  Uncle  Johnny.  And 
perchance,  from  your  looks  to-night,  ye  may  have  need 
of  friends  some  time,  not  so  far  away." 

"  I'm  always  pleased  to  help  those  who  help  me," 
exclaims  the  financier.  "  Meet  me  within  twenty 
minutes  at  the  Palais  Royal  and  I  will  have  what  yog. 
want,  if  I  can  get  it." 

So  driving  to  the  portico  of  the  great  palace,  within 
fifteen  minutes,  Monseigneur  Law  comes  hurriedly  down 
to  them,  and  puts  into  Jeanne's  hand  a  paper,  saying: 
"That  is  what  you  wish." 

Then  he  looks  at  Dillon,  some  presentiment  of  the 
future  coming  into  his  face,  and  mutters:  "When  I  am 
naked  to  my  enemies,  remember  your  words." 

But  they  hardly  wait  to  hear.  Jeanne  has  flown  to 
the  corner  of  the  street  where  D'Aubigne"  is  ready  to 
mount,  and  whispered:  "Quick!  to  the  entrance  of 
the  Bastille?  If  they  have  not  arrived,  give  this  to  the 
officer  when  he  comes  up.  Raymond's  freedom  from 
arrest.  If  the  portals  have  closed  on  him,  demand 
from  the  governor  his  release,  and  bring  Comte 
d'Arnac  to  my  apartments,  Rue  de  Conde",  as  fast  as 
horse  can  fly!  Do  this  for  me!  " 

"I  will!"  cries  the  young  chevalier,  but  the  last 
of  his  words  is  lost  as  his  horse  darts  along  the  Rue 
St.  Honore". 

Ten  minntes  after  this,  as  Dillon  assists  Jeanne  out 
of  the  carriage  in  front  of  her  apartments,  another 
coach  drives  up,  and  with  a  cry  of  joy  Jeanne  is  at 
its  door  whispering:  "  Mimi — I've  saved  him — I 
think — in  time !  Bring  the  bride  in — she  shall  go  out 
the  Comtesse  d'Arnac." 

So  they  all  come  hurriedly  into  Jeanne's  little  parlor, 
where  they  are  received  by  Madelon,  who  appears 
sleepy  and  yawns:  "  Madame  de — de  Caylor  has  gone 
to — to  bed." 

Curiously  the  lamps  are  lighted,  and  as  Madelon 
drawls  that  she  is  sleepy,  her  eyes  are  very  bright. 

Something  metallic  in  the  rustle  of  the  girl's  dress,as 
she  turns  away,  seems  to  catch  Jeanne's  ear.  She  says 


THE   KING  S   STOCKBROKER.  247 

suddenly:  "  Excuse  me  for  a  minute,  dear  friends;  I 
will  go  to  my  chamber  and  throw  off  my  wraps." 

But  Madelon,  from  the  door  of  the  apartment,  flies 
quickly  to  her  and  proffers:  "  Let  me  take  them  off  for 
you,  Mademoiselle!"  eagerly  assisting  her  with  her 
cloak  and  hood. 

"Thanks!  you  are  a  willing  child!"  replies  la 
Quinault.  "  Take  this  paper, "  and  producing  one  of 
the  lettres  de  cachet  hands  it  to  the  girl,  explaining: 
"It  is  of  great  importance!  Place  it  in  my  jewel 
box." 

"Yes,  Mademoiselle, "  answers  Madelon,  with  eager 
ness  intense;  and  with  quick  step  would  leave  the 
apartment;  going  towards  Quinault's  chamber. 

But  even  as  she  is  at  the  door,  Jeanne  cries:  "Stop! 
Did  I  give  you  the  right  document  ?  Is  there  a  cross 
upon  it  ? " 

And  Madelon,  her  hand  even  in  the  folds  of  her  dress, 
the  document  away  from  her  eyes,  cries:  "Yes, 
Mademoiselle,  there  is!  " 

' '  Come  here !  let  me  be  sure. " 

And  the  girl  approaching,  a  little  reluctantly,  the 
actress  pounces  on  the  paper,  and  cries:  "You  are 
right!  There  is  the  cross!  But,  "and  her  eyes  are 
gleaming  now  with  suspicion:  "How  did  you  know 
that  ?  You  did  not  look  at  it  as  I  spoke."  Then  she 
whispers  in  savage  tones:  "  Did you  place  it  there?  " 

And  there  is  a  cry  for  mercy,  as  the  soubrette  is  on 
her  knees. 

As  she  sinks  down,  within  Madelon's  petticoats  there 
is  the  clink  of  gold,  and  with  one  quick  cry  la  Quinault 
has  plucked  a  purse  heavy  with  golden  louis  from  the 
maid's  pocket,  and  is  jingling  it  in  the  air  and  laughing: 
"See,  this  little  viper  is  rich!" 

To  which  the  maid  snarls:  "You  shall  not  take  it — 
it  is  mine  !  " 

"  Then  who  gave  it  to  you  ?" 

"  I — I  dare  not  tell  !  " 

"You  will  not  answer?  Comte  Dillon,  please  take 
this  girl  to  the  lieutenant  of  police.  I  accuse  her  of 
having  robbed  me  !  " 

"  Bedad  !  I'll  have  her  there  in  a  jiffy, "  answers  Dillon, 
who  has  now  some  suspicion  of  what  this  affair  means. 


248  THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER. 

But  even  as  he  speaks,  the  soubrette  cries :  ( '  The  lieu 
tenant  of  police  !  Merc%  Mademoiselle,  Mercy  !' ' 

And  the  actress  cries:   "  Who  gave  you  this  money  ?" 

"  It  was — oh  spare  me — Monsieur  de  Moncrief  /  " 
And  the  maid  astonishes  them  all  by  whispering:  "  He 
is  in  your  chamber,  looking  for  the  other  lettre  de  cachet ! 
He  came  here,  and  said  if  he  did  not  get  it  you  would 
destroy  him. "  Then  she  suddenly  screams:  "Madame 
la  Marquise,  plead  for  me!  " 

For  Quinault's  hands  are  round  her  throat  and 
Jeanne's  eyes  now  are  those  that  kill ;  and  she  is  mutter 
ing  hoarsely:  "You  expect  mercy  from  me  ?  You,  who 
have  caused  the  man  I  love  to  hate  and  despise  me!  " 

But  Mimi  is  imploring  her  now:  "Don't  kill  her — 
let  her  go — for  heaven's  sake  !  Raymond  will  return!" 

"Then,  //Raymond  returns,  I  may  spare  her!" 
cries  la  Quinault,  and  looking  in  the  girl's  eyes  she 
whispers:  "Pray  for  his  safety,  as  you  never  prayed 
before  !  My  own  wrongs  I  forgive — but  not  his — not 
HIS  !  Now  go! — Not  that  way  !  To  your  own  room;  not 
to  my  chamber  to  warn  your  accomplice  !  " 

Then  a  new  idea  flying  through  her  brain  Jeanne  whis 
pers  into  the  maid's  ear  some  words  of  direction  and 
says:  "  Now  go  !  you  understand  ?  FLY!" 

And  Madelon  speeding  out,  la  Quinault  mutters: 

"  Now,  when  he  does  return — he  will  surely  forgive," 
and  begins  to  laugh  hysterically.  "Ah!  I  may  have 
some  news  for  you,  Julie,  that  will  make  you  forgive 
also  ! " 

Here  the  inge'nue  astonishes  them  all ;  she  walks  to 
the  actress  and  murmurs:  "When  I  look  on  your  face 
I  can  not  believe  you  could  do  so  great  a  wrong  to  one 
who  has  not  injured  you ! "  then  suddenly  kisses 
Jeanne  and  cries:  "Give  Raymond  back  to  me!" 

"If  I  can  !     If  I  can  !  "  murmurs  Jeanne. 

But  even  now  the  clock  strikes  half-past  eleven,  and 
Quinault  gasps:  "  Will  he  never  come  ?  " 

At  the  stroke,  comes  in  the  maid  servant  and 
announces:  "  Everything  is  prepared,  Madame  !  " 

"Pray,  girl,  that  he  comes  before  midnight  !  "  cries 
the  actress.  "  For  if  not — if  not!"  At  which  Madelon 
wrings  her  hands  and  runs  out  affrighted;  for  into 
Quinault's  eyes,  as  this  night  passes,  Dillon  looking 


THE   KING  S   STOCKBROKER.  249 

eagerly  on,  sees  something  of  the  wild,  desperate  look 
of  the  hunted  animal  is  coming. 

Just  then  the  soft  tones  of  the  Procureur  du  Roy  are 
heard  from  the  next  room,  calling:  "  Madelon,  I  can 
not  find  it  !  "  and  entering  suddenly  Charles  de  Mon- 
crief  starts  back  and  would  retire. 

But  Jeanne  is  laughing  in  his  face:  "  Come  in,  Mon 
sieur  de  Moncrief.  Do  not  be  so  fearful  !  We  are  no 
strangers.  You  were  doing  Madelon  the  honor  to  call 
upon  her.  Cannot  one  of  us  assist  you  in  your  search  ? 
I  suppose  you  were  seeking  what  you  could  not  find,  for 
I  have  it  with  me ! "  she  makes  significant  gesture  to 
her  bosom  and  whispers  menacingly:  "You  shall  see 
it  some  day — perhaps  to-night — but  in  hands  more 
powerful  than  those  of  a  weak  woman." 

Here  De  Moncrief,  who  has  eyes  only  for  her, 
and  has  not  seen  Dillon,  screams:  ''Give  me  that 
paper,  or  I  will  tear  it  from  you  !  " 

And  he  would  advance  upon  her  with  desperate  hand 
— but  at  that  moment  hears  an  Irish  laugh,  and  turn 
ing  sees  Dillon,  and  gasps  :  "You  here  ?" 

' '  Ah,  faith  !  the  more  the  merrier,  my  dear  Cousin 
Charlie,"  whispers  O'Brien.  "Some  day,  when  I  am 
not  Austrian  Embassador,  you  will  say  :  '  the  more — 
the  more  horrible  !'  ' 

At  his  words  De  Moncrief  would  dart  to  the  door, 
but  Quinault  cries:  "  Don't  let  him  escape  !  " 

So  the  Irishman,  stepping  to  the  entrance,  De  Mon 
crief  turns  from  him — he  cannot  look  in  Dillon's 
eyes. 

Just  here  there  is  a  noise  of  a  carriage  driving  up 
quickly,  and  hasty  voices  come  from  the  stairway. 
Above  them  all  Lanty's,  crying,  "Begob!  we've  got 
him!" 

And  Jeanne  has  given  a  scream  of  joy,  and  the  door  has 
been  flung  open,  and  Julie  is  sobbing  in  Raymond's  arms. 

But  the  antique  clock  in  the  corner  of  the  room 
points  to  fifteen  minutes  to  midnight  as  Raymond  is 
saying  to  Quinault  :  "  Forgive,  dear  friend,  I  only 
doubted  for  a  second !  " 

To  this  she  murmurs,  "  Oh  God,  I  thank  thee  !  He 
asks  me  to  forgive  !  "  Then  suddenly  exclaims:  "Ray 
mond,  I  give  you  to  your  bride  !  Midnight  is  near — your 


250  THE    KINOES   STOCKBROKER, 

marriage  ceremony  must  be  instantly  performed. 
The  house  of  D'Arnac  must  not  lose  its  glory  nor  its 
power!" 

But  Raymond  starts  and  mutters:  "There  is  no 
time  !" 

And  she,  smiling  in  his  face,  says  :  "But  for  me, 
there  would  not  be — See  !" 

As  she  speaks,  Madelon  draws  aside  the  curtains  of 
the  little  dining-room  which  has  been  made  into  a 
temporary  chapel  ;  for  Jeanne  has  a  religious  heart,  and 
worships  each  day  before  the  cross  of  Christ. 

The  tapers  are  burning  as  in  a  chancel,  and  there  is 
a  cushion  for  the  bride  to  kneel  upon  as  Jeanne  whis 
pers  :  ' '  The  altar  is  prepared — the  bride  and  groom 
are  here  !" 

Here  with  a  fearful  chuckle  De  Moncrief  jeers  :  ' '  But 
not  theories? — I  do  not  see  the  priest !" 

And  they  all  cry  out  :   "  The  priest  !" 

And  Jeanne  moans  :  "  I  had  forgotten  !" 

To  this  De  Moncrief,  triumphant  now,  laughs  : 
"  There  is  no  churchman  within  reach.  The  estates 
will  yet  be  mine  !  By  the  law  I  triumph  !" 

But  suddenly  the  actress  is  standing  over  him  and 
echoing  his  laugh,  and  crying  :  "  By  the  law  you  fail ! 
Charles  de  Moncrief,  you  are  the  Procureur  du  Roy, 
and  by  that  title  have  power  to  bind  in  marriage  as 
strongly  as  any  priest." 

And  D'Aubigne  from  the  door  calls  out  :  "  A  Pro 
cureur  du  Roy  once  married  a  King  of  France. " 

Then  Jeanne  goes  sternly  on:  "If  I  remember  right, 
in  your  youth  you  took  orders  in  the  church,  but  lost  your 
diocese  through  malfeasance  in  office.  Once  an  abbe", 
always  an  abbe."  And  her  voice  becomes  dominant 
as  she  commands  :  "Go  up,  and  as  an  abbe  do  the 
only  good  action  of  your  life.  Bind  both  by  the  civil 
and  the  holy  law." 

And  he,  snarling  at  her,  mutters:  "I  have  the 
power,  but  will  not  use  it!  I  respectfully  decline!" 

"You  refuse?" 

"I  do!" 

"Then  D'Aubigne","  cries  Jeanne,  "have  you,  as  I 
asked,  kept  some  of  the  police  outside?  " 

"They  are  here!  " 


THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER.  251 

"  Then  take  this,"  and  she  gives  him  a  lettre de  cachet. 
"Tell  them  to  arrest  Lenoir  on  that  warrant,  and  see 
he  is  in  the  Bastille  by  to-morrow  morning.  And  if 
Raymond  d'Arnac  and  Julie  de  Beaumont  are  not  man 
and  wife  when  the  bells  strike  midnight,  come  to  me 
for  the  other  !  " 

"Bedad!  Give  me  the  other  lettre  de  cachet  now.  I'll 
save  ye  a  policeman!  I'll  drag  old  Cousin  Charlie 
to  the  Bastille  for  you.  It  is  any  man's  duty  with  the 
warrant!"  cries  Lanty  eagerly. 

At  this  they  burst  out  laughing,  all  but  Cousin  Charlie, 
who  gasps :  ' '  You  will  use  the  lettre  de  cachet  on 
me? " 

"You  shall  decide  that,  Monsieur  de  Moncrief," 
Jeanne  jeers.  ' '  Shall  to-night  be  your  last  in  gay  Paris? 
Or  will  you  do  my  bidding?  De  Sabran  hardly  loves  you 
well  enough  to  ask  the  Regent  to  let  you  out." 

At  these  words,  a  grinding  of  the  teeth  from  Dillon 
frightens  Cousin  Charlie  very  much,  and  he  moans: 
"  I  am  at  your  command." 

"Then  go  up  and  bind  in  holy  wedlock  Raymond 
d'Arnac  and  Julie  de  Beaumont.  Quick !"  Jeanne  falters 
at  the  word,  but  still  is  jeering  De  Moncrief  as  he  with 
sighs  and  whimpers  takes  his  place  at  the  altar. 

Here  Raymond  comes  to  her  and  whispers:  "I  did 
not  know  before.  Forgive  me !  As  you  love  me,  forgive 
me!" 

And  she  laughs:  "Pooh!  an  actress'  love  —  a  fleet 
ing  passion  of  the  moment!  One  of  the  kind  that  comes 
to  us  emotionals  of  the  stage;"  then  cries  :  "  Quick, 
join  your  bride — YOU  HAVE  NO  TIME!  "  And  gleams  on 
him  with  bright  eyes  hiding  a  breaking  heart.  "  Go  up 
and  marry  in  your  rank  !  Go  up  for  the  honor  of  the 
D'Arnacs!" 

And  he,  turning  slowly  from  her,  takes  the  fair 
young  comtesse's  arm,  and  they  sink  kneeling  before 
the  man,  who  as  an  abbe",  for  the  moment  seems 
sanctified,  as  he  performs  the  ritual  of  the 
church. 

Dillon  and  D'Aubigne  are  kneeling  also,  and  Mimi, 
in  a  hurried  whisper,  sobs:  "Forget!  and  live  for  art!  " 
then  sinks  in  reverence  also. 

Then  Jeanne,    standing  there  as  Phedre,  dying  the 


252  THE    KING  S   STOCKBROKER. 

butterfly  death,  listens  to  the  words  that  part  him 
from  her  forever. 

And,  to  her  ears,  come  stealing  the  midnight  chimes 
of  neighboring  church,  and  the  soft  organ  tones  of 
midnight  mass.  And  she  moans  to  herself:  "  Their 
wedding  bells!  For  me  no  wedding  bells  will  ever 
sound — for  me  their  joyous  peal  will  never  ring  out! 
But  when  their  sound  for  many  a  happy  bride  comes 
stealing  to  the  ears  of  the  actress  whom  the  church 
curses  and  the  people  say  should  only  be  made  A  PLAY 
THING  FOR  THE  GREAT — I'll  know  in  all  their  tones 
heaven  has  blessed  me  for  this  night's  ATONEMENT." 

Then  the  solemn  voice  of  Charles  de  Moncrief, 
writhing  as  he  utters  the  words,  groans  out:  " I pro 
nounce  yott  man  and  wife  !  " 

And  she  responds  with  one  gasping  sigh:  "He  is 
hers,  MY  LOVE  is  DEAD  !  " 

And  the  actress  falls  fainting  before  the  bride,  as 
Julie  rises — Comtesse  d'Arnac. 


BOOK    V. 
THE  FLIGHT  FROM  FRANCE. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

FICKLE    PARIS. 

INTO  this  same  room,  the  next  afternoon,  comes  old 
De  Villars.  He  has  at  last  conquered  the  gout. 

"Madame  la  Comtesse  de  Friburg,  discharge  that 
stupid  servant  girl,"  he  snarls.  "  She  has  not  learned 
your  title!" 

To  him,  Jeanne,  with  pale  face,  and  eyes  big  with 
suffering,  falters:  "  I  have  none!  " 

"What  !  Has  D'Orleans  neglected  his  promise  ?" 

"  No,  he  gave  me  the  patent  of  nobility,  but  I  threw 
it  away.  I  have  no  need  for  title  now,  for  he  is  wed — 
wedded  to  another ." 

"Who?" 

"TheComted'Arnac!" 

"Good  God!" 

"Last  night,  in  this  very  room,  he  married  the  young 
Comtesse  Julie  de  Beaumont.  Good  heavens!  Don't 
swear  so!  "  for  from  the  old  marshal's  lips  oaths  are 
coming  worthy  of  a  pirate  of  the  sea. 

"  The  ineffable  poltroon!  "  he  cries,  "who  came  to 
me  and  promised  the  next  time  he  saw  you  to  speak  of 
marriage." 

"Yes,  but  you  mistook.  Raymond  alluded  to  the 
Comtesse  Julie  Beaumont,  to  whom  he  has  been  affi 
anced  for  years." 

"  God  of  heaven !  did  he  play  a  trick  on  me  ? " 

But  she  answers,  sadly:  "No,  you  mistake. 
Listen  to  me!  "  And  she  explains  the  affair  to  him  in 


254  THE    KINGS   STOCKBROKER. 

trembling  words,  he  sitting  by  and  twirling  his  mous 
tache  and  looking  at  her  aghast,  and  muttering  execra 
tions  on  Lenoir,  and  on  Raymond  and  his  snip  of 
a  bride,  as  he  calls  little  Julie. 

A  moment  after,  growing  more  calm,  De  Villars  says : 
"  I  will  go  to  D'Orleans.  This  matter  shall  be  rectified. 
The  title  belongs  to  you.  You  cannot  throw  it  away." 

But  she,  placing  in  his  hand  the  tiara  of  gems  he  had 
sent  the  Comtesse  de  Friburg  that  Thursday  night, 
mutters:  "  He  is  wed!  I  have  no  use  for  rank.  Now  I 
am  all  actress.  No  coronet  shall  ever  deck  my  brow 
— only  the  laurels  of  my  art — dear  old  papa  De  Villars !  " 
And  Jeanne  once  more  puts  her  fair  head  upon 
the  old  warrior's  breast,  and  tears  come  to  her,  but 
not  of  joy;  for  triumph  in  art  will  never  fill  a  woman's 
heart. 

So  after  a  little,  going  out  from  her,  the  old  mare- 
chal  strides  solemnly  and  sorrowfully  away.  He  is 
angry  with  them  all,  even  with  Jeanne  for  the  moment. 

But  there  is  another  sad-faced  man  in  Paris  this  day, 
in  curious  contrast  to  the  happy  and  excited  specula 
tors  on  the  Quincampoix,  who  cry  out:  "Stocks  are 
higher  yet !  We  are  richer  than  before ! " 

Monseigneur  Law's  face  is  ghastly  white.  He  knows 
the  balloon  is  inflated  to  the  bursting  point.  There 
soon  must  come  a  rent;  for  every  livre  of  real  value  he 
has  given  the  India  stock,  has  been  multiplied  by  the 
greedy  speculators  on  the  street. 

The  various  stocks  his  company  have  issued,  amount 
ing  to  something  over  sixteen  hundred  million  livres, 
have  now  reached  the  enormous  quotation  of  nine 
thousand  millions. 

But  the  higher  shares  go,  the  merrier  become  the 
speculators,  especially  De  Conti,  D'Argenson,  and  the 
Brothers  Paris,  who,  though  they  do  no.t  buy  much 
now,  keep  talking  of  the  wondrous  riches  of  the  New 
World,  all  to  be  lavished  upon  the  India  Company,  and 
through  it  France. 

"  Mon  Dieu  !  if  they  would  give  me  time  to  develop 
these  colonies  in  reality \  not  develop  them  on  paper" 
thinks  Uncle  Johnny  seated  in  his  office  on  this  day — 
the  roar  of  the  street  coming  to  him,  mingled  with  the 
people's  shouts  of  "  Vive  Monseigneur  Law!  " — "per- 


THE    KING  S   STOCKBROKER.  255 

chance  eventually  I  might  make  these  inflated  values 
real  ones.  At  present  they  mean  ruin — my  horse  has 
run  away  with  me!  " 

But  no  thought  of  disaster  is  in  his  various  syco 
phants  and  hangers  on ;  every  one  congratulates  him, 
and  none  but  happy  faces  are  seen  by  him — save  ONE! 

Early  in  the  day  a  desperate  woman,  being  denied 
entrance  to  Uncle  Johnny's  private  office,  cries  out: 
"I'll  have  his  blood!"  It  is  Clothilde,  with  eager 
bloodshot  eyes — those  eyes  so  often  seen  upon  the  stock 
markets  of  the*  world — who  waits  for  John  Law, 
and  getting  sight  of  him  in  the  bank,  screams:  "Let 
me  at  him!  He  has  ruined  me!  He  told  me  to 
sell!" 

And  Uncle  Johnny  coming  to  her,  says:  "  Madame, 
you  made  a  great  fortune;  is  not  that  enough?" 

"A  FORTUNE?  when  I  sold  them  SHORT  by  your 
advice! " 

Then  he  whispers  to  her,  very  low :  ' '  Keep  them  out ! 
In  time  they  will  fall !  " 

"  Keep  them  out  ?  God  of  Despair!  they're  buying 
them  in  for  me  as  I  speak.  I'm  a  ruined  woman ! 
Don't  you  hear!  Twenty  thousand  livres  a  share! 
Robber,  liar!  Twenty  thousand  livres\" 

And  Clothilde,  fainting  and  despairing,  and  calling 
down  the  vengeance  of  heaven  upon  the  villain  who 
has  ruined  her,  is  carried  wild,  raving  and  hysterical  to 
her  home. 

But  though  De  Villars  is  sad,  he  has  vengeance  in  his 
heart.  His  wrath  falls  most  immediately  and  practi 
cally  upon  Lenoir.  That  gentleman,  by  means  of 
his  friends  at  court,  some  two  weeks  after  this,  get 
ting  released  from  confinement  in  the  Bastille,  De 
Villars  sends  for  him,  and  not  mincing  words  over  the 
matter,  says:  "  Scoundrel,  resign  from  the  army  that 
you  have  disgraced." 

"  Parbleu  !  Because  I  fought  a  duel  or  two,  and  have 
perhaps  a  little  more  skill,  and  a  little  less  bad  luck, 
than  those  who  have  come  in  front  of  me,"  sneers 
Gaston  at  the  marechal  of  France. 

"  Your  outrages  in  that  line  are  bad  enough,  but  what 
I  refer  to  is  your  conduct  in  Flanders,  juggling  away 
the  lives  of  brave  young  officers  who  were  rich.  Resign ! 


256  THE   KING'S  STOCKBROKER. 

or  a  court  martial !  I  may  not  be  able  to  prove  exactly 
all  I  shall  charge  you  with — but  I  will  prove  enough  to 
make  you  forever  detested  and  forever  execrated  by 
every  gentleman  who  wears' the  uniform  of  France!  " 

"  Sapristi!  "  answers  Lenoir,  striving  to  carry  the 
matter  off.  "  What  does  it  matter  to  me — a  court  mar 
tial  !  "  I  can  make  money  enough  in  the  Rue  Quincam- 
poix;"  and  goes  away.  But  after  a  little,  reasoning  that 
he  has  no  more  chance  of  promotion  with  De  Villars 
as  his  active  enemy,  and  that  a  cour£  martial  will  come 
very  near  to  damning  him  before  everybody  else,  Gas- 
ton  Lenoir  sends  in  his  resignation  as  officer  in  the  army 
of  France  and  devotes  himself  to  speculation,  which  now 
runs  to  greater  riot  than  before.  Everything  is  very 
feverish  and  stocks  have  now  sudden  and  violent 
fluctuations,  but  scarce  the  rallying  power  they  had  a 
few  days  before. 

The  balloon  looks  as  if  it  were  going  to  burst. 

The  enormous  prices  cannot  hold.  There  is  not 
money  enough  in  circulation  to  keep  pace  with  them, 
and  they  commence  slowly  to  decline. 

At  this,  the  wiser  of  the  foreign  speculators  turn 
their  stocks  into  bank  bills  and  their  bank  bills  into  coin 
and  specie,  and  ship  them  out  of  the  country.  And  the 
end  comes  nearer. 

Then  Law,  bringing  his  great  mind  to  bear,  tries  to 
strengthen,  in  very  desperation,  the  specie  reserves  in 
the  Bank  Royal.  The  Regent  decrees,  at  his  petition, 
that  all  payments  of  over  one  hundred  livres,  from 
town  to  town  in  France,  shall  be  made  in  bills  of 
exchange,  not  in  coin. 

Next  driven  nearer  to  the  wall  Law  obtains  an  edict, 
that  no  subject  of  France  shall  hold  in  his  possession 
higher  than  one  .hundred  marcs  in  gold  and  twenty  in 
silver. 

And  suddenly  no  one  seems  to  have  any  coin. 
Nobles  and  bourgeoisie  bury  it  in  their  gardens  and 
hide  it  away  in  vaults,  but  will  bring  no  more  of  it  to 
the  bank. 

So  things  go  on  from  worse  to  worse,  till  in  May, 
1720,  D'Argenson  introduces  a  bill  in  Parliament, 
which  purporting  to  be  friendly  to  the  company  of 
Monseigneur  Law,  actually  ruins  it,  for  it  decrees  that 


THE    KING  S   STOCKBROKER.  257 

after  a  certain  time  the  shares  shall  lose  half  their 
value.  Scrip  of  10,000  livres  is  to  be  worth  but 
5,000.  And  though  Law  pleads,  begs,  and  fights 
against  it,  Parliament  passes  the  edict,  and  thus  brands 
the  stock  as  not  worth  the  price  it  is  quoted  on  the 
street.  And  there  is  a  fearful  rush  to  sell!  A  panic 
so  great  that  the  Rue  Quincampoix  is  cleared  by  troops. 
There  is  not  room  for  the  people  who  would  dispose  of 
their  shares  in  that  crowded  lane. 

The  speculators,  driven  away  from  there,  fly  to  the 
great  Place  Vendome,  and  there  sell  stocks  not  only 
for  money,  but  for  anything  they  can  get  for  them  in 
the  way  of  trade — horses  and  carriages,  wagons,  and 
even  vegetables  and  things  to  eat. 

Then  late  in  the  summer  the  sponge  is  tossed  up  by 
the  Regent,  who,  though  he  knows  Law  meant  to  make 
France  great,  and  in  his  heart  honors  him  and  is  his 
friend,  yet  is  tired  of  fighting  a  battle  he  now  thinks 
lost.  Forthwith  he  issues  a  decree  announcing  that  the 
Brothers  Paris  have  been  appointed  to  re-organize  and 
put  in  liquidation  the  India  Company. 

And  as  Law's  name,  is  painted  out  and  The  Brothers 
Paris'  painted  /'«,  upon  the  offices  of  that  great  com 
pany,  the  iron  enters  Uncle  Johnny's  soul.  His  dream 
of  colonization  and  commercial  grandeur  dies. 

Then  personal  enmity  rises  up  to  crush  this  man 
already  crushed.  Those  who  had  fawned  upon  him  and 
begged  him  for  stock  cry:  "  Down  with  him!  "  Those 
who  have  made  money  through  him  sneer  at  him! 
Those  who  have  lost  it  by  him  curse  him !  And  one,  the 
Comte  d'Evereux,  even  at  the  Regent's  table,  Law  sit 
ting  by,  offers  to  wager  that  in  a  month  he  will  be 
hanged. 

Just  about  this  time  .there  comes  a  courier  riding 
post  haste  to  Raymond,  summering  on  his  beautiful 
estates  upon  the  river  Oise,  his  pretty  comtesse  laugh 
ing  through  life,  beside  him;  for  D'Arnac  has  resigned 
his  command  of  the  garrison  of  Paris. 

This  messenger  brings  a  packet  marked  "On  official 
business." 

As  he  opens  this  the  fair  Julie  whispers:  "What 
does  it  mean?  "  for  she  has  learnt  to  read  her  husband's 
face,  and  it  is  very  serious. 


258  THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER. 

He  says:  "I  must  leave  you  to-night!  I  am 
ordered  on  special  service." 

"  For  what  ?  Not  for  the  plague — that  awful  plague 
that  is  in  Marseilles  now,  ravaging  and  killing  all  ? 
My  God  !  they  are  not  going  to  send  you  there — 
Raymond — my  husband  !  "  she  screams. 

And  he  answers:  "Nonsense!  Doctors  are  needed 
at  Marseilles — not  soldiers.  De  Villars  simply  wants 
to  see  me." 

Finally  soothing  her  fears,  he  bids  her  good-bye, 
though  she  sobs  upon  his  shoulder;  then  with  soldier's 
promptitude  takes  horse,  and  riding  for  his  life,  for  that 
is  what  De  Villars  commands,  the  next  day  is  in  Paris. 

Not  even  stopping  to  greet  Madame  de  Chateau- 
brien,  he  rides  direct  to  the  house  of  his  old  chief, 
De  Villars. 

That  gentleman  receives  him  very  grimly.  He  says : 
"  I  have  sent  for  you,  because  you  are  a  man  who  can 
hold  his  tongue;  "  then  growls  savagely,  "TOO  WELL  ! 
I  cannot  explain  the  service  required  of  you,  though  I 
can  guess.  But  if  you  will  go  to  D'Orleans " 

"  What  is  it  he  wants  me  for  ?  '^ 

"  Well,  I'll  whisper  in  your  ear,  but  after  I  have 
whispered,  don't  think  you  heard  me  !  "  And  the 
marechal,  putting  his  snowy  moustache  against  D'Ar- 
nac's  ear,  mutters :  "  It  is  to  get  Law  out  of  France  alive !  " 
Then  he  goes  on  in  low  conversational  tones:  "You 
always  had  a  kind  of  sneaking  friendship  for  that 
bubble-blower,  D'Arnac.  He  made  you  very  rich,  I 
believe,  and  you  are  not  one  who  forgets  a  favor. 
D'Orleans  thinks  you  will  remember  it  now,  even 
to  the  risk  of  your  life.  As  you  ride  along  the 
streets  to  the  Palais  Royal,  you  will  see  how  well  the 
gentleman  who  I  imagine  will  be  your  care  shortly,  is 
loved  now  that  his  bubble  has  lost  its  rainbow  hues  and 
become  soap  suds  again. " 

As  D'Arnac  goes  out  on  the  street  and  rides  to  the 
Palais  Royal,  he  observes  how  Monsieur  Law  is  regarded 
by  the  fickle  crowd  of  Paris,  who  eight  months  before 
had  worshipped  him.  On  the  walls  he  sees  caricatures 
of  poor  Uncle  Johnny,  driven  in  a  triumphant  car, 
being  married  to  the  goddess  of  shares  by  the  goddess 
of  folly,  who  officiates  as  priest. 


THE    KING  S    STOCKBROKER.  259 

And  another  more  horrible  one,  at  which  a  crowd  are 
gathered,  jeering — a  picture  of  Law  boiling  in  a  caul 
dron  over  flames  of  popular  madness;  also  this  extraor 
dinary  placard,  which  it  would  be  difficult  for  him 
to  miss,  for  it  is  posted  by  the  thousands  on  the  walls 
of  Paris: 

Beelzebub  begat  Law! 

Law  begat  Mississippi! 

Mississippi  begat  the  System! 

Paper  begat  the  bank ! 

The  bank  begat  bank  notes! 

Bank  notes  begat  shares! 

Shares  begat  stockbrokers! 
Hello!  here  we  are  at  Beelzebub  himself  again! 

In  front  of  the  Palais  Royal  Raymond  sees  a  strong 
detail  of  the  Musquetaires,  for  the  Regent  has  determined 
to  save  at  least  the  life  of  this  man  he  knows  would 
have  made  France  glorious  in  her  colonies,  if  he 
himself  perchance,  had  not  been  quite  so  lavish  in  his 
expenditures,  and  the  public  had  not  been  quite  so 
greedy. 

Passing  through  trie  droops,  D'Arnac  quite  shortly 
finds  himself  in  the  presence  of  D'Orleans  and  Uncle 
Johnny,  and  stares  astonished,  for  the  Regent  has  the 
atrocious  stockbroker  placard  in  his  hands,  and  is 
laughing  at  it  fit  to  kill  himself,  and  poking  Uncle 
Johnny  in  the  ribs. 

"Egad!"  says  D'Orleans,  stifling  his  mirth,  "I'm 
glad  to  see  you,  D'Arnac,  and  I  think  Monseigneur 
Law,  whom  you  know,  is  perhaps  more  happy." 

"I  have  called,  your  Highness,  at  the  request  of  the 
Due  de  Villars,  to  say  I  am  entirely  at  your  command, 
whether  as  a  matter  of  military  duty,  or  of  personal 
service,"  answers  D'Arnac,  saluting. 

"This  service,"  remarks  D'Orleans,  "is  a  personal 
one.  I  do  not  ask  it  as  the  Regent  of  France,  but 
simply  as  Philippe  d'Orleans,  whom  you  are  privileged 
to  refuse,  for  it  may  perchance  involve  the  greatest 
personal  risk." 

"I  am  still  at  your  orders,"  answers  D'Arnac. 

"Well,  then,"  here  D'Orleans  conies  close  to  him 
and  whispers:  "This  I  say  to  you  must  be  most  secret. 


260  THE  KING'S  STOCKBROKER. 

I  will  forgive  you  if  you  refuse,  but  if  you  divulge,  I 
will  never  forgive  you.  It  is  to  get  my  friend,  Mon- 
seigneur  Law,  safely  out  of  France." 

"I  am  under  great  personal  obligation  to  him,  your 
Highness.  I  will  get  him  out  of  France  alive,  or  not 
live  to  come  back  to  you." 

"Bravo!  V  cries  Philippe,  who  is  happy  to  have  the 
matter  off  his  mind.  Then  he  adds  lightly:  "Did  I 
not  tell  you,  my  dear  Law,  that  here  would  be  a  gentle 
man  who  would  remember? " 

"When  do  you  wish  to  start?"  asks  Raymond,  with 
military  abruptness. 

"Well,  this  is  about  my  plan,"  replies  the  Regent. 
"I  wish  you  to  take  some  half  dozen  gentlemen  with 
you,  those  you  can  trust — perhaps  some  of  your  younger 
officers.  They  must  not  wear  the  uniform  of  France, 
but  must  be  armed  to  protect  if  necessary  the  gentle 
man  they  escort.  You  will  go  secretly!"  Then  he 
remarks,  turning  to  Law,  "What  time  will  suit  you 
best?" 

"To-morrow  evening,  with  your  Highness'  per 
mission." 

"Yes,  that  will  give  me  to-m%rrow  to  make  arrange 
ments,"  says  D'Arnac. 

So  the  affair  is  very  shortly  settled.  Raymond  is  to 
leave  Paris  the  next  evening  at  ten  o'clock,  and  travel 
rapidly,  escorting  Monseigneur  Law  and  such  belong 
ings  as  he  can  take  with  him,  to  the  Low  Countries. 

After  a  few  minutes'  more  conversation,  D'Arnac 
takes  his  leave,  the  Regent  saying  kindly:  "  I  presume 
this  affair  will  give  you  many  things  to  arrange.  But 
if  you  can,  General,  come  to  my  supper  table  at  eleven. " 

Passing  out  from  the  Palais  Royal,  Raymond  now 
turns  his  face  towards  his  sister's  house  upon  the  Rue 
St.  Honore.  Here  he  is  received  with  surprise  by 
Mimi,  also  the  Comtesse  de  Crevecceur,  who  is  now 
living  with  her  niece,  upon  her  widow's  jointure  from 
the  estates  of  her  late  husband,  her  private  fortune 
having  been  swept  away  that  woeful  day  that  she 
accepted  Uncle  Johnny's  hint.  Clothilde  still  remembers 
the  financier  unkindly.  She  asks  Raymond  in  vindictive 
voice,  if  he  has  hurried  to  Paris  to  see  that  villain,  Law, 
that  robber  of  widows  and  orphans,  hung. 


THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER.  261 

To  this  lady's  inquiries,  U'Arnac  simply  says  that 
he  has  come  on  military  business  to  the  capital — still 
being  Colonel  of  the  Musquetaires  it  is  necessary  some 
times  to  look  after  his  regiment. 

A  moment  after  he  asks  Dillon's  address,  for  that 
gentleman,  when  Raymond  had  left  his  sister's  house, 
had  hauled  down  the  flag  of  Austria,  the  convenances  of 
society  demanding  his  departure  too. 

"Comte  Dillon,"  remarks  Mirni,  perchance  the 
slightest  flush  on  her  fair  cheek,  "has  at  present,  I 
believe,  very  handsome  apartments  only  a  square  from 
here,  on  the  St.  Honore." 

"You  believe  ? "  says  Clothilde  jocularly.  "How 
many  notes  have  you  addressed  to  him,  Mimi  ?  " 

' '  More  than  I  can  recollect, "  laughs  the  widow  lightly. 
Then  she  adds  suddenly :  ' '  But  Comte  Dillon  is  no  longer 
the  Austrian  Embassador. " 

"No?" 

"He  resigned  to-day  the  embassy  to  his  charge 
d'affaires,  and  is  now  a  private  gentleman.  His  suc 
cessor  is  already  here,  the  Prince  Esterhazy.  I  believe 
Comte  Dillon  departs  for  Vienna  to-morrow.  He  came 
to  say  adieu  to-day. "  This  last  is  uttered  a  little  tremu 
lously  by  Madame  la  Marquise. 

"  Then  as  I  shall  not  see  him  here,"  replies  Raymond, 
"  I  will  call  on  him  myself." 

Soon  after  this  he  is  at  the  apartments  of  Dillon. 
Obtaining  audience,  he  notes  curiously  a  strange  look 
in  his  old  comrade's  eyes,  one  unusual  to  him  in  the 
last  few  months  he  has  been  in  Paris  ;  for  with  the 
honors  of  the  Emperor  of  Austria  upon  him,  Dillon's 
smile  has  generally  been  light  and  his  eyes  happy. 

Now  there  is  a  fixed  look  on  his  face,  and  his  answers, 
even  to  D'Arnac,  are  short.  He  says:  "Yes,  I  leave 
to-morrow  for  Vienna.  It  was  only  expected  I  should 
remain  as  the  representative  of  his  Majesty  some  short 
time  in  Paris." 

"  You  will  return  soon,  I  hope  ?"  queries  Raymond. 

"That  I  do  not  think  possible.  There  are  now  two 
good  reasons  for  my  leaving  Paris.  Faith  !  one  is,  I 
like  it  too  much — and  the  other  is,  I  have  business 
away  from  it.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  may  not  be  back 
for  years — perchance  never  !" 


262  THE   KING'S   STOCKBROKER. 

"You  leave  to-morrow  night  ?"  says  D'Arnac. 

"  Yes,"  replies  the  other. 

"Can  you  tell  me  where  the  Chevalier  Lanigan  is  ?" 

"  Faith,  yes  !"  laughs  Dillon.  "  The  Chevalier  Lani 
gan  can  be  found  at  his  hotel,  '  The  Turk's  Head  Inn. ' 
The  Lady  Lanigan  now  takes  the  cash  in  his  cafe." 

"Good  heavens!"  cries  D'Arnac,  "what  has  be 
come  of  his  fortune  ?" 

"He  has  saved  some  of  it,  but  not  all.  In  fact  a 
good  many  of  them  have  lost  more.  There  has  been  a 
pretty  general  cleaning  out  in  the  greedy  speculators  of 
the  street.  Old  Chambery  blew  out  his  brains  after  the 
second  great  fall  in  stocks.  A  number  of  our  other 
friends  have  come  to  grief — only  more  so !  "  goes  on 
Dillon  sarcastically.  "  That  scoundrel  Lenoir  is  now 
a  bankrupt  and  a  beggar,  and  as  for  your  Cousin  Char 
lie,  egad  !  they  say  he  won't  get  off  with  his  life  ; 
that  indictments  are  being  found  against  him  and 
two  other  directors  of  the  royal  bank  for  embezzle 
ment,  perjury,  and  cooked  accounts.  Law  could  not 
save  him  if  he  would.  Faith,  me  Uncle  Johnny's 
got  enough  to  do  to  take  care  of  himself.  He'll  be 
lucky  if  he  escapes  alive  from  Paris,  though  they  say 
D'Orleans  is  still  his  friend  and  will  get  him  out,  if  pos 
sible,  of  the  country." 

"You  seem  to  think  you  know  the  movements  of  the 
Palais  Royal  pretty  well,"  says  Raymond  lightly. 

"  Bedad!  and  I  do,  better  than  some  of  them  think!" 
laughs  Dillon,  but  it  is  a  nasty,  sneering  laugh. 

"Then  I'll  see  you  to-morrow,"  says  D'Arnac. 

And  a  moment  after,  getting  upon  the  street,  O'Brien's 
last  remark  comes  back  to  him,  bringing  with  it  this 
question  :  "  Why  has  Dillon  so  unexpectedly  resigned 
the  embassy  of  Austria  ?  Is  it  because  he  guesses  Law's 
intended  flight,  and  judges  the  time  is  ripe  for  his  re 
venge  ?" 

This  forces  Raymond  to  a  change  of  plans.  He  had 
hoped  to  have  Lanty's  assistance  in  this  affair  ;  but 
now  he  dare  not  engage  the  Chevalier  Lanigan,  fearing 
somehow  it  may  get  to  Dillon's  ears. 

So  going  to  the  Musquctaires,  he  selects  this  even 
ing  from  the  younger  officers,  some  four  gentlemen, 
whom  he  knows  have  too  much  of  the  soldier  in  them 


THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER^  263 

to  have  erer  dabbled  in  the  speculation  of  the  street. 
He  simply  bids  them  come  with  him,  to  say  no  word 
about  it  to  any  man  ;  but  to  be  ready,  dressed  as  pri 
vate  gentlemen,  when  he  gives  them  word,  and  appoints 
D'Aubigne  to  act  as  lieutenant. 

So  these  preparations  being  complete,  he  turns  his 
attention  to  selecting  the  proper  route  of  travel,  and 
decides  upon  the  old  way  out  of  Paris— rthe  one  he  had 
rode  that  night  with  Hilda  de  Sabran — the  road  to 
Mieux.  From  there  he  will  turn  to  the  north.  He 
chooses  this  because  he  knows  the  route  so  well  in  the 
darkness. 

Having  made  his  arrangements  D'Arnac  calls  at  the 
Palais  Royal  to  make  his  report;  and  at  the  Regent's 
brilliant  supper  table  sees  Hilda  de  Sabran — though 
her  eyes  are  restless  and  her  smile  troubled,  beauty  is 
still  upon  her  cheek — she  is  as  lovely  as  before — she 
gives  him  one  glance — but  it  is  of  entreaty,  not  love ; 
in  fact  the  glances  of  her  fair  eyes  to  every  one  within 
the  room  are  those  of  fear  and  pleading  this  night. 

Why?  Raymond  cares  not  to  guess,  and  doesn't  stay 
to  divine.  He  has  too  much  to  do  on  the  morrow  and 
must  have  sleep  now — for  he  expects  none  the  coming 
night. 

Early  the  next  day  his  preparations  being  completed 
he  calls  on  Dillon  to  say  farewell,  and  finds  that  gentle 
man  hurriedly  engaged  in  packing,  and  with  him,  to 
his  astonishment,  Lanty. 

"Be  Saint  Patrick!  hadn't  we  better  get  him  to  come 
with  us?  "  cries  the  Irishman. 

But  Dillon  says  sternly  to  his  follower:     "No!  " 

And  Raymond  now  guesses  that  he  has  perhaps  a 
harder  matter  to  get  Uncle  Johnny  safe  out  of  France 
than  he  has  before  thought.  He  cannot  bear  to  think 
of  combat  with  his  old  friend.  He  will  try  strategy, 
and  to  this  he  devotes  his  mind. 

So  that  evening  he  directs  D'Aubigne*  to  rendezvous 
at  ten  o'clock  with  the  four  gentlemen  equipped  for 
long  and  steady  riding  and  armed  cap-a-pie  outside  of 
the  barracks  on  the  Charenton  road. 

At  half-past  nine  o'clock  he  carelessly  strolls  to  the 
Palais  Royal,  on  foot;  his  horse  is  to  be  ready  for  him 
by  D'Aubigne's  side. 


264  THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER. 

Admitted  by  the  private  entrance,  Raymond,  coming 
into  the  chamber  of  the  Regent,  finds  Uncle  Johnny 
ready  for  the  journey. 

A  private  carriage  filled  with  baggage  is  waiting  in 
the  great  courtyard. 

"  This  will  not  do,"  remarks  D'Arnac. 

"  Why  not  ?"  says  D'Orleans,  who  has  come  down 
with  his  friend. 

"  It  might  be  followed.  I  don't  want  to  fight  if  I  can 
help  it." 

"  Certainly  not!  "  replies  Monseigneur  Law. 

"What  do  you  propose  ?" 

"This.  Get  two  other  carriages.  Send  one  out 
now — let  it  drive  to  the  south  ;  send  another  out  half 
an  hour  afterwards — let  it  drive  to  the  north.  If  these 
are  followed,  they  will  leave  the  way  clear  for  Monseig 
neur  Law  and  myself." 

"Bravo!"  says  the  Regent.  And  shortly  after,  at 
his  orders,  two  other  carriages  are  in  waiting,  and  one 
is  driven  out  very  rapidly  through  the  great  entrance, 
turning  to  the  south,  and  going  out  of  Paris  that  way. 
Half  an  hour  afterwards,  another  leaves,  and  journeys  to 
the  north,  under  orders  to  proceed  towards  Com- 
piegne. 

Then  the  one  for  Monseigneur  Law  is  drawn  up,  and 
the  Regent,  shaking  hands  with  his  financier,  the  two 
look  at  each  other  for  the  last  time  upon  earth.  Their 
parting  is  short,  D'Orleans  simply  saying  :  "It  was  my 
fault — not  yours."  And  Law  remarking:  "  It  was  the 
will  of  Providence,  and  a  woman's  unreasoning  passion. 
If  I  had  had  those  lettres  de  cachet!  " 

" Pardi!"  remarks  D'Orleans,  "let  us  not  cry  over 
spilt  milk.  Hilda's  sorry  now — infernally  sorry.  I've 
just  suggested  to  her  that  her  husband  is  waiting  for  her. " 
At  this  the  two  laugh  sadly,  and  bid  each  other  good-bye ; 
Raymond  wondering  what  D'Orleans  means. 

Then  Law  steps  in,  and  D'Arnac  seated  opposite  him 
with  two  loaded  pistols  on  his  lap,  directs  the  driver  of 
the  coach  to  proceed  slowly  at  first,  as  if  in  no  hurry, 
and  getting  to  the  Port  St.  Antoine,  pass  out  by  that 
gate  and  along  the  road  by  the  barracks  of  the  Mus- 
quetaires. 


THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER.  265 

CHAPTER   XXVI. 

THE    LAST    STAND. 

So  THEY  drive  through  the  streets  of  the  city  still 
lighted  brilliantly  with  the  oil  lamps,  still  thronged 
with  the  crowds  that  Law  had  brought  to  it,  still 
filled  with  the  trappings  of  that  wealth  this  man  has 
made  to  congregate  in  Paris  and  stay  there. 

For  no  matter  its  fluctuations,  whether  it  has  been 
held  by  invading  armies,  whether  it  has  lost  enormous 
sums  by  outside  speculative  enterprises,  Paris  from  that 
day  to  this  has  always  been  RICH! 

A  great  crowd  in  one  of  the  thoroughfares  they  pass 
through  is  gathered  about  a  new  placard  that  has  just 
been  put  up,  entitled,  "  The  wedding  of  Monseigneur 
Law  and  the  Queen  of  the  Mississippis  !"  At  this  the 
Parisian  mob  are  hooting  wildly. 

Looking  on  them,  Uncle  Johnny  says:  "  Pardi ! 
If  they  guessed  that  I  am  here  !  " 

Then  he  gives  a  sigh  and  relapses  into  silence  until 
they  pass  out  of  the  town  near  the  Charenton  road. 
Here  Raymond  giving  the  signal,  D'Aubign£  and  his 
followers  join  them,  one  of  them  leading  a  horse  for 
D'Arnac's  use. 

"  Who  are  these  ?  "  asks  Law  anxiously. 

"Your  escort,"  remarks  Raymond,  preparing  to 
alight  and  mount. 

But  his  charge  says  to  him:  "  For  God's  sake  stay 
with  me!  Talk  to  me!  Don't  let  me  think." 

' '  Very  well.  Until  we  come  to  the  wood  of  Blondy, " 
remarks  Raymond.  "There  we  may  meet  footpads, 
perchance  banditti."  For  many  of  the  gamblers  who 
have  lost  their  all  in  the  Rue  Quincampoix,  and  many 
who  never  had  anything  to  lose,  have  taken  to  the  high 
ways  to  make  a  living.  One  half  of  Paris  is  robbing, 
pilfering  and  murdering  the  other  half.  It  is  the  days 
of  Cartouche  ! 

So  they  drive  along,  D'Aubigne  and  his  companions 
following  close  after  them. 

Perchance  feeling  himself  at  least  safe  out  of  Paris, 
Law  commences  to  chat  easily.  After  a  little,  turning 
his  conversation  upon  events  that  have  lately  taken 
place,  he  gives  D'Arnac  some  curious  information. 


266  THE  KING'S  STOCKBROKER. 

"I  suppose,"  he  says,  "to-night  there  are  some 
more  unhappy  than  I.  I  at  least  have  the  friendship  of 
the  Regent.  Those  who  betrayed  me  have  not." 

' '  Betrayed  you !     Who  ?  " 

"Why,  your  cousin!"  breaks  out  Law.  "Charles 
de  Moncrief  !  He  did  not  tell  me  the  Regent  had 
given  Hilda  the  three  lettres  de  cachet  that  would  have 
shut  my  enemies  up  in  the  Bastille  until  too  late  for 
them  to  bring  about  my  ruin.  And  then  De  Sabran, 
who  let  her  jealousy  and  her  hate  of  the  emotional 
Quinault  rob  me  of  them !  Had  I  known  it  that  night 
I  would  have  got  them  from  the  actress,  she  would 
have  had  her  title — I  would  have  destroyed  my  enemies 
— and  you,  my  dear  D'Arnac,  would  not  have  come  as 
close  to  the  gates  of  the  Bastille  as  you  did  !  "  This 
last  is  said  with  a  kind  of  sighing  laugh. 

Then  he  breaks  out:  "  Retribution  has  come  upon 
them.  Charles  de  Moncrief  to-night  was  charged  by 
the  Parliament  with  treason  in  embezzling  the  funds  of 
the  Bank  Royal,  and  Hilda  de  Sabran  this  evening  (so 
I  have  it  from  D'Orleans,  who  has  suddenly  become 
virtuous),  is  about  to  be  transferred  to  the  authority  of 
her  husband,  your  friend  Comte  Dillon — who  has 
resigned  his  post  of  Embassador  of  Austria,  to  take  her 
to  Vienna,  where  I  imagine  he  thinks  a  perpetual 
convent  will  be  the  safest  place  for  his  erring  spouse." 

"  D'Orleans  give  up  the  beauty  of  Hilda  de  Sabran  ?" 
murmurs  Raymond,  almost  incredulously. 

"ParcH!    Did  notyou?"  chuckles  the  financier. 

"I  had  my  reasons!  "  answers  Raymond,  shortly. 

"  Philippe  has  his  also!"  remarks  Law.  "Besides, 
six  years  is  a  long  time  for  D'Orleans  to  worship  anything, 
and  there  are  newer  faces,  though  doubtless  not  as 
pretty,  about  the  Palais  Royal  now." 

"  So  that  is  the  reason  Dillon  is  leaving  for  Vienna." 

"  That,  and  possibly  because  he  wants  a  free  hand 
against  his  enemies,  who  are  now  naked  to  him.  As 
the  representative  of  the  Emperor  of  Austria,  Comte 
Dillon's  hand  would  be  tied  !  "  remarks  the  financier  so 
easily  that  Raymond  is  astonished. 

But  conversation  is  here  stopped  by  D'Aubigne  riding 
up  and  saying  they  are  entering  the  forest  of  Blondy. 

Thereupon    Raymond    mounting     his    horse,     with 


THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER.  267 

D'Aubigne*  by  his  side,  precedes  the  carriage  as  it 
moves  along. 

Getting  through  this  wood  safely,  between  twelve  and 
one  that  night,  they  reach  the  village  of  Claye,  stop 
ping  at  the  post-house  that  D'Arnac  remembers  very 
well. 

Its  appearance  is  the  same  as  when,  nearly  six  years 
before,  he  had  approached  it  on  his  elopement  from  Des 
Capacities  with  Hilda  de  Sabran. 

Perchance  it  is  some  memory  of  this  that  makes  him 
sigh  as  he  dismounts,  for  the  landlady  who  comes 
to  the  door  of  the  little  auberge  is  the  one  who  had 
welcomed  him  that  other  evening. 

But  important  matters  are  on  D'Arnac's  mind; 
though  every  arrangement  has  been  made  in  advance 
by  couriers  preceding  the  party,  both  as  regards  secrecy 
and  speed ;  a  private  room  being  ready  to  which  Mon- 
seigneur  Law  can  instantly  retire  to  prevent  any 
chance  of  recognition  by  loungers  about  the  posthouse. 

That  gentleman  is  immediately  conducted  to  a  cham 
ber  up  stairs,  while  D'Arnac  superintends  getting  fresh 
horses  into  the  coach.  In  this  he  is  slightly  delayed ; 
another  carriage  is  standing  in.  front  of  the  auberge  also 
waiting  for  its  relay. 

As  he  hurries  the  sleepy  postboys,  Raymond  sud 
denly  starts,  for  as  well  as  he  can  discover  by  the  dim 
light  of  a  lantern  held  by  one  of  the  grooms,  he  thinks 
he  sees,  for  one  moment,  a  familiar  figure  striding  into 
the  stables.  It  looks  like  Gaston  Lenoir.  What  can 
this  man  want  here  ? 

He  steps  hurriedly  to  the  door  of  the  stables,  but 
sees  no  evidence  of  the  individual  he  is  seeking,  and 
thinking  he  must  be  mistaken  soon  enters  the  inn  with 
D'Aubigne  to  take  a  little  refreshment  before  proceed 
ing  on  their  way  to  Mieux. 

This  finished,  D'Arnac  rises  from  the  table,  to  sum 
mon  Monseigneur  Law.  In  the  hallway  meeting  the 
landlady  he  says:  "  Which  room  ?  "  pointing  up  stairs. 

And  she,  remembering  him,  laughs:  "The  one  at 
the  rear!  It  is  the  most  retired." 

So  Raymond  springs  up  the  stairs,  and  opening  the 
door,  being  in  too  much  hurry  for  ceremony,  whispers: 
"  Everything  is  prepared!  " 


268  THE  KING'S  STOCKBROKER. 

He  is  answered  by  a  scream,  part  of  terror,  part  of 
recognition,  from  a  lady,  and  a  shriek  for  mercy  from  a 
man;  and  stands  astonished.  By  the  flickering  candle 
light  he  sees  Hilda  de  Sabran,  her  eyes  big  with 
astonishment,  and  Charles  de  Moncrief,  who  has  fallen 
on  his  knees  before  him,  begging  him  for  the  sake  of 
his  kinship  and  his  blood,  not  to  arrest  him  and  drag 
him  back  to  Paris  to  be  hung! 

' '  You  need  not  fear  me ;  though  I  have  wrongs 
enough  to  wish  your  death.  I  am  no  sergeant  de  ville" 
he  says  grimly;  then  adds  sarcastically:  "What  are 
you  doing  here  with  this  lady — the  wife  of  my  friend, 
Comte  Dillon?" 

"You — you  are  some  emissary  of  my  husband!" 
cries  De  Sabran ;  and  leaving  Cousin  Charlie  groveling 
upon  the  floor,  she  strides  towards  Raymond  and 
whispers:  "You  can  kill  me,  but  you  can't  take  me 
back  to  put  me  in  his  charge!  No  Viennese  convent  of 
black  nuns  for  me!  No  dark  cell  and  penitential  pray 
ers.  No  black  bread  and  haircloth  dress  and  disciplin 
ary  scourge  for  life!  I  die  or  live  free!" 

Then  as  he  answers  not,  perchance  she  thinks  that 
the  beauty  he  once  loved  may  still  be  potent,  and 
whispers:  "  You  remember  this  very  inn  where  you 
first  loved  me?  Where  I  first  looked  upon  your  hand 
some  face,  my  Raymond,  that  was  never  to  be  mine! 
You  remember  ?  " 

And  seeing  in  his  glance  perchance  some  tenderness 
of  recollection,  she  bursts  out  imploringly:  "In  that 
memory  I  ask  you  but  one  favor — don't  put  my  husband 
upon  my  flying  footsteps.  Let  me  pass  out  unscathed 
into  another  land!  " 

"  He  is  not  in  pursuit  of  you !  "  answers  D'Arnac. 

"If  not  now,  he  will  be.  We  played  a  ruse  upon 
him  in  the  city.  He  thought  D'Orleans  would  place 
me  in  his  hands  to-night.  But  I  know  he  will  pursue 
me.  Do  you  want  my  blood  upon  your  hands  ?  If  not, 
keep  a  silent  tongue!  Don't  tell  him!  "  And  her  eyes 
that  are  very  close  to  his  seem  to  say:  "You  loved  me 
once,  why  not  AGAIN?  "  as  her  soft  tresses  brush  caress 
ingly  his  cheek. 

But  here  Charles  de  Moncrief,  plucking  up  courage, 
cries  jealously:  "Siren,  would  you  make  him  love  you 


THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER.  269 

before  my  very  face  when  you  have  beguiled  me  to  the 
risk  of  my  life  into  taking  you  with  me?"  next 
mutters:  "Where  is  that  poltroon,  Lenoir,  whom  I 
hired  to  guard  me  ?  Did  I  not  give  him  ten  thousand 
livres  to  protect  me  from  pursuit  ?  Why  is  he  not 
here  ?  " 

So  Raymond  leaves  them,  and  for  the  last  time  looks 
upon  the  beauty  of  this  woman  whom  once  he  would 
have  made  his  goddess,  had  not  his  friendship  for  her 
husband  and  her  own  crimes  prevented. 

A  moment  after  he  has  found  the  chamber  of  Mon- 
seigneur  Law,  who  has  made  a  very  comfortable  meal 
while  the  horses  have  been  changed. 

Then  coming  down  to  the  carriage  that  has  been  drawn 
up  in  waiting,  to  his  astonishment,  Raymond  sees  Hilda 
de  Sabran  just  stepping  secretly  in  the  darkness  out  of 
the  coach  of  Monseigneur  Law  and  into  the  other  one 
of  Cousin  Charlie  which  is  now  driven  hurriedly  away. 

Why  Hilda  has  stepped  into  the  coach  of  Law  for  a 
single  moment  he  has  no  time  to  inquire,  for  the  one 
bearing  Cousin  Charlie  and  Hilda,  attended  by  a  single 
horseman  whom  he  now  recognizes  as  the  duellist,  is 
already  on  the  post  road  and  has  turned,  going  towards 
the  south  and  Italy. 

A  moment  after  D'Arnac  has  Monseigneur  Law  in 
his  carriage,  and  they,  keeping  the  road  to  the  east, 
drive  towards  Mieux. 

In  the  early  morning  light,  just  as  they  are  about  to 
enter  the  town,  D'Aubigne,  who  is  riding  behind, 
suddenly  puts  spurs  to  his  horse,  and  coming  beside 
Raymond,  whispers:  "  We  are  pursued!  " 

"By  how  many  ?  " 

"Two  men,  I  think.  They  are  riding  very  hard.  I 
cannot  distinguish  anything  more  in  the  uncertain  light. " 

"Then  you  and  I  pause  here,  D'Aubigne",  and  we'll 
see  what  these  people  want." 

So  the  two  reining  up  their  horses,  the  cavalcade 
attending  Monseigneur  Law  passes  on. 

A  minute  after  D'Arnac  finds  himself  confronting 
his  old  comrade,  O'Brien  Dillon,  who,  with  Lanty  just 
in  his  rear,  comes  spurring  along  the  road. 

"  Halt  !  "  says  Raymond,  sharply. 

"  In  whose  name  !  "  cries  Dillon. 


270  THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER. 

"In  the  name  of  friendship!  "  answers  D'Arnac. 

"By  St.  Patrick !  is  it  you  ? " 

"Yes,"  replies  Raymond,  "I'm  charged  by  one 
whose  name  I  shall  not  mention  with  the  safety  of  the 
gentleman  in  that  carriage." 

"Uncle  Johnny,  bedad!  "  says  Lanty. 

"Yes,  Monseigneur  Law!  " 

' '  He  is  safe  from  me, "  replies  O'Brien.  "  I  promised 
him,  for  your  sake,  Raymond,  that  I'd  spare  him,  though 
it  broke  me  heart  to  do  it.  It's  what  saved  ye  from 
the  Bastille  and  gave  your  bride  to  ye." 

"Thank  God!  "  whispers  D'Arnac,  a  great  load  lifted 
from  his  mind :  the  fear  that  he  might  have  to  meet  in 
deadly  combat  his  comrade  of  the  sword. 

"But,"  continues  Dillon,  "  I  did  not  swear  mercy  to 
the  woman  who  has  disgraced  my  name,  and  I  will 
pluck  her  out  of  me  Uncle  Johnny's  coach!  " 

' '  That  you  can  do  with  pleasure, "  remarks  D' Aubigne. 

"She  is  not  with  us!  "  adds  Raymond.  "  Hilda  de 
Sabran  neither  left  Paris  with  us,  nor  is  with  us  now, 
nor  will  be  with  us  to  the  end  of  the  journey." 

"You  give  me  your  word  of  honor  as  a  gentleman  to 
this  effect  ? "  whispers  Dillon,  his  face  white  with  dis 
appointment. 

"  Certainly!  "  replies  D'Arnac. 

"Then  which  way  did  she  go  ?  I  traced  her  as  far  as 
Claye,  and  thought  certainly  she  was  with  you." 

' '  Bedad !  "  says  Lanty, ' '  I  got  word  in  the  stables  there 
of  another  coach  going  to  the  south.  There  was  a 
very  old  gintleman  in  it  that  scattered  his  money  like 
water,  and  a  gintleman  that  rode  on  horseback  beside 
him." 

"But  the  lady  stepped  into  your  carriage!"  cries 
Dillon. 

"She  did!"  answers  Raymond  hurriedly,  "but  out 
of  it  again  and  into  the  other." 

Then  he  stops  suddenly,  biting  his  tongue,  as  Dillon 
cries:  "That's  one  of  Cousin  Charlie's  little  games!  I 
know  him!  They're  in  the  other  carriage,  Lanty — six 
or  eight  hours  the  start  of  us!  But  I'll  overtake  them 
yet!  Both  enemies  together!  That's  enough  for  me — 
the  two  I  want!  Come!"  And  with  hardly  a  word  of 
farewell,  such  is  his  haste,  O'Brien  Dillon  turns  his 


THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER.  271 

horse  about  and  gallops  off,  as  if  speed  were  his  only 
object  in  the  world,  Lanty  following  him. 

A  few  minutes  after  Raymond  overtakes  Monseigneur 
Law's  carriage.  He  has  been  looking  back  with  some 
anxiety,  but  on  seeing  Raymond  his  face  becomes 
serene  again. 

Half  an  hour  after,  arriving  at  Mieux,  they  change 
their  direction,  turn  to  the  north,  and  take  a  more 
direct  road  to  Flanders,  where,  four  days  afterwards, 
Raymond  acquits  himself  of  his  promise  to  the  Regent, 
and  delivers  Monseigneur  Law  safe  in  the  Low 
Countries. 

On  that  same  day  in  the  southern  part  of  France, 
along  the  dusty  road,  in  the  first  light  of  morning,  a 
post-chaise  bearing  Charles  de  Moncrief  and  Hilda  de 
Sabran  passes  out  of  Avignon,  Gaston  Lenoir  riding 
doggedly  behind. 

By  means  of  money  lavishly  scattered  along  the  post 
route,  the  greatest  possible  speed  has  been  attained, 
and  they  at  last  think  themselves  safe  from  pursuit. 

They  are  at  the  commencement  of  the  great  Rhone 
Delta,  where  the  river  scatters  itself  in  several  branches 
running  towards  the  sea.  Almost  directly  south,  a 
little  to  the  east  of  this  Delta,  lies  Marseilles  upon 
the  Mediterraean. 

There  would  be  safety  for  them  there  from  any  man — 
from  any  hate ;  for  no  vengeance  would  lead  man  into 
the  awful  pestilence  that  ravages  Marseilles. 

The  plague  has  come  upon  it  from  the  Levant. 

The  great  blessing  of  being  made  a  free  port  the  year 
before,  by  the  agency  of  Law,  has  brought  to  it  the 
commerce  of  the  Mediterranean.  But  in  one  of  the 
barks  sailing  from  the  pestilential  East  has  come  a 
plague  as  awful  as  even  the  black-death  of  three  centu 
ries  before. 

Fostered  by  the  inadequate  sewerage  of  the  city  flow 
ing  through  open  gutters  into  the  very  basin  of  the  port, 
and  nurtured  by  the  hot  sun  of  this  burning  summer, 
this  pestilence  has  grown  until  it  waves  the  sword  of 
death  above  all  who  remain  by  force  of  circumstance  or 
force  of  duty,  in  the  dread  city.  The  rest  have  fled  from  it. 

As  De  Moncrief  and  his  party  have  approached,  even 
before  they  come  to  Avignon,  evidences  of  surrounding 


272  THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER. 

panic,  fear  and  flight  have  reached  the  Procureur's 
watchful  eyes.  From  Lyons  even,  there  has  hardly  been 
a  postchaise  journeying  to  the  south.  All  have  been 
coming  north.  This  has  made  their  relays  of  horses 
easy  and  quick. 

At  Avignon,  the  host  of  the  inn  has  whispered  to  De 
Moncrief  :  ' '  Mordieu !  you  are  not  going  further 
south !  " 

"Yes." 

"  You  are  crazy!  " 

"  I  am  going  to  Toulon,  and  so  to  Italy.  There's  no 
pestilence  there." 

"  Ah,  that  is  better — though  it  is  the  south!  "  whis 
pers  the  innkeeper. 

"Oh,  that  is  safe  enough!"  says  Cousin  Charlie. 
"  I  have  no  idea  of  risking  myself  in  the  awful  plague !  " 
and  grows  pale  at  the  word.  "  I  keep  the  east  bank  of 
the  Durance — forty  miles  from  contagion." 

"  Pardieu  !  you  could  not  get  the  postboys  to  drive 
you,  if  you  turn  towards  Marseilles.  Every  one  is  coming 
from  there.  They  die  a  thousand  in  a  day.  So 
God  be  with  you!"  replies  the  host  of  the  auberge. 
' '  You  will  have  a  quiet  journey.  No  other  carriage  these 
two  days  has  gone  towards  the  south." 

So,  with  the  Durance  flowing  on  their  right  hand,  they 
are  journeying  rather  slowly  along  the  dusty  road;  for 
the  sun  is  just  rising  and  the  August  heat  this  day 
promises  to  be  something  awful. 

Avignon  is  eight  miles  behind  them.  Foaming  in  its 
rocky  bed,  the  swift  Durance  on  their  right,  appears, 
by  its  cool  current  fresh  from  Alpine  snows,,  to  cut  them 
off  from  the  pestilence  in  the  hot  plain  to  the  south; — 
its  living  waters  seem  a  boundary  to  the  plague. 

De  Moncrief,  feeling  safe  now  from  pursuit,  they  are 
sofa*r  from  Paris,  looks  at  the  beauty  sitting  beside  him 
and  rejoices  that  it  is  all  his;  for  Hilda,  as  the  fear 
of  O'Brien  Dillon  has  grown  more  distant,  has  re 
gained  all  her  old  loveliness  and  charm. 

Heat  has  caused  a  summer  toilet. 

In  its  light  robes  and  laces,  she  looks  as  airy  and 
cool  as  does  the  foam  of  the  sparkling  Durance.  Her 
white  arms  move  in  graceful  gestures,  her  blue  eyes  blaze 
with  the  opal  fire,  her  beauty  is  scarcely  of  this  earth  as 


THE    KINGS    STOCKBROKER  273 

she  thinks:  "  How  soon,  when  safe  in  Italy,  I  will  cast 
off  this  hideous  old  gentleman,  who  nauseates  me  with 
senile  love."  Her  laugh  is  now  as  merry  as  Cousin 
Charlie's. 

About  this  time,  Lenoir,  who  has  done  his  work  of 
protecting  them  and  looking  after  them  very  well  (for 
he  hopes  to  get  a  little  more  than  the  ten  thousand  livres 
De  Moncrief  has  paid  him  for  this  service,  which,  in  his 
beggarly  condition,  has  almost  kept  him  from  starvation), 
comes  riding  up  to  them,  and  says:  "I  see  a  cloud  of 
dust  that  seems  to  be  following  us." 

"  How  far  is  it  away  ? "  asks  Hilda. 

"  Four  miles,  I  should  judge.  Even  from  this  hill 
top  I  can  only  see  the  cloud  of  dust  rising  by  the  road 
side. " 

"This  is  curious,"  mutters  De  Moncrief.  "Few 
carriages  are  traveling  towards  the  south. " 

And  De  Sabran  mutters  :  "Tell  the  postilions  to 
whip  up!  "  in  a  nervous  way. 

These  orders  being  given,  they  quicken  their  speed, 
encouraging  the  postboys  by  a  promised  largesse. 

But  after  a  little,  Lenoir  coming  to  them  again,  says: 
"  The  cloud  of  dust  is  nearer." 

"Drive  faster!"  cries  De  Moncrief  to  his  riders. 
"  One  hundred  livres  each  if  you  leave  those  who  are 
behind  us! " 

And  with  whizzing  whips  and  biting  spurs  the  post 
boys  do  the;r  work.  They  pass  Caumont  quickly,  the 
Durance  flowing  cool  beside  them,  as  if  in  mockery  of 
the  heat  and  dust  of  the  scorching  road. 

But  they  do  not  seem  to  gain — perchance  they  lose  a 
little.  The  cloud  of  dust  is  nearer  to  them  still. 

"We  are  surely  pursued  by  some  one!  "  cries  Lenoir. 

Their  pace  is  amended  again,  for  De  Moncrief  offers 
more  money  to  the  postboys.  But  their  horses  are 
jaded  with  the  heat.  The  postchaise  is  heavy;  besides 
their  baggage,  De  Moncrief  has  in  it  not  only  a  large 
amount  of  paper  bills,  but  specie,  which  weighs  heavily 
— what  he  has  suddenly  gleaned  up  of  his  great  fortune 
before  leaving  Paris. 

The  pursuing  vehicle,  apparently  traveling  lighter, 
still  continues  to  gain.  In  its  dust  they  can  now  dis 
tinguish  (for  they  look  back  often  and  anxiously)  four 


274  THE    KING  S    STOCKBROKER. 

horses  dragging  the  lightest  kind  of  post-chaise  used  in 
travel. 

De  Moncrief  shouts:  "One  thousand  livrcs!"  to  the  boys. 
"  Get  me  to  Cavaillon  ahead  of  them  who  follow  after!  " 

Pushing  wildly  on,  they  gain  Cavaillon  first.  Here 
fresh  horses  are  put  to  their  carriage.  But  just  as  they 
are  dashing  from  the  post-house,  another  coach 
comes  flying  up,  and  as  they  drive  away,  horror 
and  consternation  are  upon  them,  for  they  hear  Irish 
voices  crying  out  behind  them,  and  one  of  these  is  that 
of  O'Brien  Dillon. 

"We  cannot  escape  him!"  mutters  Hilda,  growing 
very  pale. 

Then  with  desperate  eyes  and  lips  that  tremble  as  he 
speaks,  De  Moncrief  says  words  to  her  that  make  her 
cower  down,  shivering:  "Holy  Virgin!  not  that!" 

And  the  procureur's  hands  are  trembling  and  his 
voice  is  husky  as  he  cries  out:  "There  is  no  other 
chance!  //  may  spare  us!  That  Irish  fiend  never 
will!"  and  he  whispers  words  to  the  postilions  that 
make  the  postboys  turn  pale  also. 

But  he  cries  to  them  a  sum  of  money  that  will  make 
them  rich.  And  they,  turning  their  horses'  heads,  and 
crossing  the  Durance,  make  straight  south,  through  the 
hills  leading  to  the  low  Rhone  Delta.  For  De  Mon 
crief  now  fears  the  vengeance  of  O'Brien  Dillon  even 
more  than  the  plague. 

"Pardieu!  he'll  '.ot  follow  us!  He  has  life  and 
happiness  before  him !  "  jeers  the  procureur,  but  his 
laugh  is  ghastly  as  death  itself. 

Half  an  hour  afterwards,  Lenoir  rides  up  alongside, 
his  face  somewhat  pale,  notwithstanding  the  heat  of  travel. 
He  cries:  "God  of  heaven!  you  have  made  a  mistake! 
A  white  lipped  peasant  tells  me  we're  going  towards 
the  plague!  " 

"  God  of  heaven!  "  cries  De  Moncrief  back  to  him: 
"That  is  where  we  are  going!  The  plague  is  my 
sanctuary!  Marseilles  is  the  one  place  where  that  blood 
hound  dare  not  follow!  " 

BUT  HE  DOES! 

Even  as  they  confer,  Lenoir  begging  them  to  ride 
back  again,  and  he  will  fight  for  them,  a  dust  cloud  is 
seen  following  after  them. 


THE    KING  S    STOCKBROKER.  275 

The  coach  they  fly  from  has  crossed  the  Durance  also  ! 

With  that  De  Moncrief  bursts  out  wildly,  offering  to 
increase  the  wages  of  the  postilions,  and  proffering 
Lenoir  a  fortune  to  still  go  with  him  and  protect  him: 
"Get  into  the  carriage — rest,  that  you  may  fight! 
Ten  thousand  ducats!  " 

With  a  muttered  "Yes,"  Lenoir  springs  in. 

So  they  dash  on  again — nearer  the  plague  ! 

At  Salon  they  get  fresh  horses  once  again.  But  the 
postboys  here  refuse  to  travel  any  nearer  to  the  pest. 
The  country  round  them  is  now  apparently  deserted 
by  human  beings.  All  have  fled  to  the  North,  away 
from  this  dread  disease  that  sweeps  humanity  before  it. 

But  one  or  two  adventurous  riders,  lured  by  the  bribes 
of  De  Moncrief,  at  last  agree  to  take  them  to  Rognac, 
where  a  line  of  guards  has  been  placed  to  prevent 
any  one  escaping  from  the  stricken  city  to  carry  the 
contagion  with  them.  That  far  the  postboys  will 
go — no  further! 

So  they  dash  on  again ! 

And  after  a  little  Cousin  Charlie,  looking  back, 
sighs:  "He  has  given  up  pursuit.  I  cannot  seethe 
dust;"  then  suddenly  cries  out:  "Good  God!  He's 
coming  too!" 

For  Dillon  has  been  delayed,  like  themselves,  by 
fleeing  postboys.  But  now  he  drives  himself,  Lanty 
sitting  beside  him,  they  alone  occupying  the  vehicle. 
And  they  are  gaining — their  carriage  is  so  much 
lighter. 

But  at  last  De  Moncrief,  pouring  out  money  upon 
the  trembling  postboys,  for  he  is  nearly  crazy  with 
terror  now,  they  reach  Rognac. 

Here  they  are  barred  by  members  of  the  guard  that 
patrol  the  road  running  from  Rognac  to  Aix  and  the 
East,  isolating  Marseilles  and  its  contagion  from  the 
rest  of  France. 

"I  am  a  priest!  "  cries  Charles  de  Moncrief.  "  And 
she  is  one  who  has  come  to  nurse  her  father,  stricken  by 
the  plague." 

"We  have  no  wish  to  stop  your  going  in,"  reply 
the  men.  "  Doctors  and  priests  have  come  and 
passed  into  the  contagion.  But  we  can  permit  none  to 
return. " 


276  THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER. 

At  this  Hilda  begins  to  shudder  and  the  postboys 
throw  down  their  whips. 

They  will  drive  no  further.  The  fear  of  death 
conquers  the  love  of  gold.  Even  Lenoir  whispers  to 
De  Moncrief  hurriedly:  "  Give  me  that  bag  of  ducats 
under  the  front  seat,  and  I  will  stay  here  and  bar  his 
going  in  after  you.  I  travel  no  further  toward  the 
plague ! " 

"Take  it!"  cries  De  Moncrief.      "But  earn  it!" 

At  this  Hilda  suddenly  cries:  "I'll  stay  here,  too. 
My  beauty  will  make  my  husband  forgive.  Anyway, 
it  is  better  than  the  plague." 

But  De  Moncrief  says,  with  a  muttered  curse:  "Do 
you  think  I'll  lose  your  loveliness.  You  go  with  me!" 
And  holds  her  in  his  frenzied  arms  and  binds  her  to  her 
seat. 

But  her  cries  attract  the  guards.  They  would  corns 
to  her  did  not  the  procureur  call:  "  Back!  She  has  the 
delirium  of  the  plague!  " 

On  this,  those  who  would  aid  her,  fly  from  her.  The 
pest  has  made  all  men  cowards. 

Then,  for  Dillon  and  Lanty  are  nearly  up,  De 
Moncrief  (no  postboys  now)  driving  himself,  speeds 
desperately  away  into  the  plague,  beside  him  a  frenzied 
woman,  moaning  in  terror  and  praying  to  God  to  spare 
her  and  strike  him. 

And  the  guards  say  to  each  other:  "Neither  will 
come  back  again !  Youth  and  age  go  down  together!  " 

Just  then  O'Brien,  who  has  seen  his  prey,  comes 
flying  up  and  cries:  "  Let  me  pass!  " 

"  You  can  go  in,  but  not  out\"  they  say. 

"It  is  in  I  want  to  go!" 

"  Into  the  plague?" — You  are  mad!" 

"  Into  the  plague  I  go!"  And  there  is  something  in 
Dillon's  eyes  that  make  the  men  stand  back — all  save 
one! 

Gaston  Lenoir,  savage  at  being  dogged  so  long,  and 
hating  the  man  who  sits  there  calling  for  fresh  horses 
and  perchance  willing  to  earn  his  bag  of  ducats,  steps 
to  the  front  and  cries  to  Dillon:  "Turnback!  You 
go  not  in!  I  have  sworn  it!" 

"Faix!  to  De  Moncrief,  whose  dirty  money  ye 
have!"  says  Lanty,  and  would  spring  off  to  settle  this 


THE    KING  S   STOCKBROKER.  277 

affair  himself.  But  Dillon's  grasp  is  on  his  arm.  He 
mutters:  "Not  you!  This  is  mine!" 

"Wirra!  He'll  make  mincemeat  of  ye!"  cries 
Lanty — "  He's  as  cunning  with  the  weapon  as  the  divil 
with  his  tail! " 

"  Don't  I  know  that?"  whispers  Dillon.  This  shall  be 
the  duel  of  the  galley  slave  and  the  maitre  d'armes — 
strength  against  skill. 

Drawing  the  great  sabre  he  carries  by  his  side, 
O'Brien  springs  from  the  carriage,  and  Lenoir  and  he 
are  at  last  at  each  other,  face  to  face.  Gaston 
is  armed  with  sabre  also,  and  in  knowledge  of  the 
weapon  no  man  in  France  is  his  equal. 

Ever  as  their  blades  meet,  Dillon  knows:  "  If  I  fight 
him  as  a  fencer,  he  will  win?" 

Then  Lenoir  finds  out  what  wondrous  power 
the  awful  travail  of  the  galleys  gives  to  the  arm  of  a 
strong  man.  O'Brien  does  not  lunge — he  cuts  with 
the  giant  strength  of  his  mighty  shoulders;  and  every 
stroke  Lenoir  wards,  though  his  wrist  is  iron,  is  like  a 
lightning  shock  to  his  arm.  He  has  no  chance  to 
attack — blows  come  like  hammer  on  anvil — each  one 
weakening  his  wrist — each  one  nearly  paralyzing  his 
hand  from  the  shock  of  contact. 

Still,  if  he  can  but  get  an  opening — just  one  lunge ! 
And  the  perspiration  pouring  from  his  brow,  Gaston 
stands  waiting,  trying  to  keep  his  weapon  in  his  hand, 
for  his  one  chance — and  thinks  it  comes. 

The  great  sabre  of  O'Brien  flashes  through  the 
air!  He  will  turn  it  deftly  away.  He  throws  up 
his  point.  As  he  does  so,  instead  of  the  blow  catch 
ing  his  at  half  sabre's  length,  it  comes  close  to  his 
wrist,  and  the  strength  of  the  galley  slave  triumphs 
over  the  skill  of  the  master  of  fence.  The  contact  is 
so  potent,  the  blow  so  strong,  Lenoir's  sabre  is  dashed 
from  his  hand.  He  stands  defenceless  before  his  enemy. 

Perchance  he  would  go  unscathed  (for  Dillon  is 
no  man  to  strike  an  unarmed  foe),  but  with  a  muttered 
oath,  Gaston's  hand  seeks  his  pistol  belt,  and  that 
move  is  fatal. 

For  flashing  in  the  sun,  O'Brien's  sabre  falls,  and 
with  a  shrieking  oath,  Lenoir,  shorn  of  his  right  arm, 
near  the  shoulder,  sinks  writhing  upon  the  earth. 


278  THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER. 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE    DYING    BOATSWAIN    OF    LA    SYLPHIDE. 

GASTON  would  die  from  very  loss  of  blood  but  for  a 
young  doctor,  who,  thinking  more  of  the  charity  of  his 
profession  than  the  dangers  of  the  plague,  is  journeying 
toward  Marseilles.  He,  like  the  rest,  has  stood  gaping 
in  amazement  at  the  sight  of  a  man  fighting  his  way 
into  the  contagion — and  not  a  doctor,  nor  a  priest. 

Under  this  Samaritan  of  medicine's  hand  Lenoir's 
wound  is  bound  up  and  the  arteries  secured  and  cauter 
ized  in  time  to  save  his  life. 

But  for  this  O'Brien  does  not  wait. 

"Bedad!"  cries  Lanty,  "they're  well  ahead  of  us 
now!  " 

"Well  ahead  of  me!"  mutters  Dillon. 

"Of  us!" 

' '  No  !  for  you  go  no  further !  You  have  a  wife  and 
family." 

"Don't  talk  of  wife  and  family  to  me,"  screams 
Lanty.  "  Don't  take  the  pluck  out  of  me  when  I'm 
going  to  follow  you  to  hell !  " 

"  But  not  there !"  And  Dillon  points  towards  the 
pest.  "Remember  your  wife!  Think  of  the  child 
that's  coming!  Stay  for  them!  Meet  me  at  Toulon! 
If  I  come  out  unscathed — alive — from  this  plague  spot, 
there  I  shall  need  you!  Good  bye!  " 

Wringing  his  hand,  O'Brien,  alone  now,  drives  into  the 
pestilence  that  has  settled  like  the  gloom  of  death 
upon  Marseilles. 

As  he  passes  through  the  open  country  round  the 
town,  he  sees  no  living  man — there  are  only  bones  and 
vultures. 

Into  the  place  he  drives.  People  fly  from  him,  as 
they  fly  from  one  another,  for  each  fear  that  the  other 
may  have  the  pestilence.  The  shops  are  closed.  The 
streets  are  like  those  of  a  city  of  the  dead. 

And  over  all  the  pitiless  sun  beats  down,  drawing 
from  out  of  the  basin  of  the  harbor,  which  has  now 
become  a  cess  pool,  the  awful  odors  of  the  plague. 

The  sick  lie  dying  in  the  streets.  The  dead  lie 
unburied  in  the  houses  or  on  the  ground. 


THE    KING  S   STOCKBROKER.  279 

One  poor  scared  wretch  to  whom  O'Brien  speaks, 
points  to  his  own  plague  spots  and  flies  from  him,  cry 
ing,  "  Keep  from  me  or  you  may  partake  of  my  despair. " 

But  a  priest  to  whom  Dillon  calls,  turns, and  making 
the  sign  of  the  cross,  comes  to  him  and  asks:  "Are 
you  sick  of  the  pest  ?  Can  I  aid  you  to  a  hospital  ?  " 

"Faith !  "  remarks  O'Brien  grimly,  "are  there  nurses 
for  the  sick  when  there  are  none  to  bury  the  dead  ? " 

To  this  the  man  of  God  replies:  "  We  can  care  now 
only  for  the  living — they  have  hope  in  this  world.  The 
dead  have  gone.  The  galley  slaves  were  compelled  to 
bury  them,  but  the  galley  slaves  have  all  died.  You  are 
a  stranger  here  !  Why  have  you  come?  " 

"I  seek  a  man  and  a  woman!"  mutters  O'Brien 
between  his  clenched  teeth.  For  this  mention  of  the 
galley  slave  has  brought  up  his  awful  sufferings  and 
spurred  on  his  vengeance,  and  he  gives  a  description  of 
Hilda  de  Sabran  and  Charles  de  Moncrief. 

"I  think  I  saw  a  man  and  woman  such  as  you 
describe  drive  towards  the  basin  of  the  harbor.  There's 
a  galley  there  to  which  orders  were  given  to  sail.  It  is 
the  only  one  in  port — the  only  one  that  has  not  yet 
gone  away.  They  may  have  gone  on  board  that  ship, 
hoping  to  escape  from  the  pestilence." 

A  galley  in  the  basin  of  the  harbor!  O'Brien  Dillon 
darts  for  it  striding  along  streets  a  year  before  he  had 
crouched  through,  fleeing  from  the  galleys.  This 
awful  degradation — this  terrible  travail  of  his  life — is 
in  his  soul,  as  he  comes  to  the  harbor,  and  there 
seeing  a  galley,  strides  on  board.  • 

But  before  him  a  man  and  a  woman  seeking  escape 
from  the  town,  have  stepped  upon  its  deck.  And  the 
woman,  who  is  very  beautiful,  has  looked  about  and 
suddenly  uttered  a  cry:  "  My  God  !  La  Sylphide ! " 

For  Hilda  de  Sabran  remembers  the  glorious  pageant 
that  had  met  her  in  Marseilles  but  a  year  before. 

It  is  the  same  fairy  galley  that  had  borne  her  in 
triumph  to  the  flte  at  the  Isle  Pomegue. 

But  now  the  beautiful  vessel  that  was  once  covered 
with  silken  awnings  and  made  picturesque  by  gilded  poop 
and  decorated  forecastle,  is  a  wreck.  Not  the  wreck  of 
the  storm,  but  the  wreck  of  the  pestilence. 

This  has  broken  out  upon  her,  among  the  confined 


aSo  THE  KING'S  STOCKBROKER. 

wretches  of  its  waist,  worse  than  in  the  town  itself. 
Under  it  these  galley  slaves,  huddled  together  in  their 
chains,  have  died  like  sheep.  The  living  have  now 
grown  too  sick  or  weary  to  throw  over  the  dead,  who 
lie,  still  chained  upon  their  benches. 

The  officers,  standing  to  their  duty,  have  striven  to 
raise  the  sails  and  put  out  of  port.  But  the  sailors 
who  have  lived,  have  deserted  this  hole  of  pesti 
lence,  for  the  sewerage  of  the  city  flows  around  them 
with  its  awful  stench.  So  there  has  not  been  strength 
enough  upon  the  craft  to  get  up  its  anchor  or  its  sails; 
one  of  these  now  floats  languidly,  half  hoisted,  under 
the  sun. 

Of  all  the  officers  of  the  boat  none  are  now  alive  save 
the  dread  comiti,  who  lies  upon  the  poop  deck,  stricken 
with  the  plague,  the  spots  of  the  contagion  upon  his 
face  and  neck  and  hairy  breast,  the  incipient  delirium 
coming  on  him. 

And  he  stares  at  the  beauty  of  the  woman  and  the 
age  of  the  man  who  stand  before  him;  then  cries: 
"  It  is  a  year  ago!  This  is  the  mistress  of  the  Regent 
— the  beautiful  woman  who  made  me  lash  the  slaves  to 
death,  to  drive  them  faster  in  the  race.  A  year  ago — 
when  we  were  happy  here!  All  save  the  galley  slaves! 
And  I  was  cruel  to  them  with  lash  and  rod — for  which 
God  pity  me !  I  now  go  to  the  torment  of  the  damned !  " 

So  he  jeers  in  their  faces,  as  they  beg  him  to  take 
them  out  to  sea,  and  pour  gold  before  him,  and  offer 
him  great  wealth  to  get  the  vessel  out  upon  the  breezy 
ocean,  and  laughs:  "Impossible!  All  are  dead  or 
dying! " 

Then  suddenly  to  the  comitt  comes  what  he  thinks  is 
delirium. 

There  is  a  hoarse  cry  from  the  woman  and  a  gasp  of 
terror  from  the  man ;  another  figure  is  coming  on  board ! 

Staring  at  it,  the  boatswain  with  eyes  of  terror  cries: 
"The  ghost  of  format  number  1392  !  He  who  went  mad 
and  drowned  himself  right  here  a  year  ago !  Mad  from 
the  cruelty  of  the  lash!  " 

Suddenly  he  says  no  more — but  simply  looks! 

For  the  ghost  of  the  format  has  cried  out  with  awful 
mocking  laugh:  "At  last — faithless  wife!  At  last — 
De  Moncrief  !  who  made  me  a  galley  slave!  " 


THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER.  281 

And  suddenly  the  beautiful  woman  flies  to  him,  and 
on  her  knees  screams:  "  Mercy!  " 

And  he  says:  "  From  my  hands — yes!  For  God  has 
stricken  ye !  The  plague  spots  are  on  your  neck  and 
face! " 

And  she,  staggering  from  him  dazed,  turns  eyes  that 
roll  with  horror  upon  a  mirror  on  the  cabin  wall,  a 
remnant  of  the  great  fete  she  glorified  the  year  before ; 
and  seeing  the  taint  of  the  contagion  upon  her  soft, 
white  skin,  she  flies  to  the  side  of  the  vessel,  and  with 
a  shriek  of  mortal  terror  springs  into  the  air,  her  white 
garments  floating  about  her,  gleaming  in  the  sun,  an 
image  of  despairing  beauty  which  has  lost  earth,  but 
has  not  gained  heaven,  as  with  one  flash  she  disappears 
into  the  inky  waters  of  the  basin  of  death. 

Perchance  the  trembling  old  man  would  follow  after 
her.  But  there  is  a  grip  of  iron  on  his  shoulder,  and  a 
hoarse  voice  is  whispering:  "  This  is  a  fitting  place  for 
us  to  meet!  My  God,  La  Sylphide !  the  very  galley 
where  they  tortured  me!"  The  sight  of  his  place  of 
torment  drives  O'Brien  Dillon  into  madness.  He  drags 
De  Moncrief,  his  teeth  chattering  in  his  head,  his  eyes 
rolling  with  terror,  up  to  the  second  bench  of  the 
waist,  on  which  two  corpses  lie  chained,  and  three 
slaves  stricken  with  the  pestilence  are  dying,  and  there 
are  empty  irons  for  one ;  one  format  had  been  thrown 
overboard  a  corpse. 

And  he  says,  hideous  laughs  coming  frdm  him,  that 
are  punctuated  by  the  shrieks  of  the  victim  he  holds  in 
his  hands:  "On  this  bench  /  suffered!  Behold  the 
impress  of  my  limbs  into  the  hard  oak,  where  I  toiled 
by  day  and  moaned  by  night,  ironed  to  the  deck.  This 
place  is  for  YOU  !  " 

"Good  God  of  mercy!" 

"These  irons  are  for  YOU!  " 

But  now  there  are  only  screams  from  the  old  man,  as 
the  escaped  galley  slave  chains  him  in  the  very  irons  he 
wore,  amid  the  dead  and  dying,  and  laughs:  "Turn 
about,  by  heaven!  Turn  about  is  fair  play! "  And  so 
leaves  him  amid  the  groans  of  the  wretches  dying  of 
the  pestilence.  Dead  men  about  him — the  rest  all 
stricken. 

But  now  Charles  de  Moncrief  begins  to  pray  to  the 


282  THE    KING'S   STOCKBROKER. 

boatswain  to  be  released,  for  his  tormentor  has  left  the 
ship. 

But  the  delirium  of  the  fever  is  on  the  comiti  and  he 
cries:  "A  new  galley  slave!  Always  for  him  the  wel 
come  of  the  bastonnade !  We  will  row  now!  We've  a 
strong  man  here!  " 

And  in  his  madness  of  the  plague,  the  comite",  flying 
from  the  poop,  falls  upon  the  last  galley  slave  that 
shall  come  under  his  hands — the  new  one — and  shouts: 
"Row!"  and  tears  off  his  clothes,  shrieking:  "Row 
naked,  as  in  battle  !  "  And  raising  again  his  awful  whip, 
the  maniac  boatswain  cries:  "Row!"  giving  the 
cadence  of  the  stroke. 

From  very  force  of  habit,  the  other  three  wretches 
at  the  bench,  spring  up  shrieking,  the  lash  whizzing  over 
their  shoulders,  and  they  force  De  Moncrief's  hands 
upon  the  oar. 

Then  suddenly  above  the  cadence  and  the  time  given 
by  the  boatswain,  and  the  shrieking  slaves  trying  to 
move  this  spar  that  is  now  too  heavy  for  their  dying 
strength,  comes  up  one  wild  howl  from  Charles  de 
Moncrief,  once  Procureur  du  Roy,  now  galley  slave 
number  1392. 

The  lash  is  falling  upon  him  and  cutting  his  old  back 
into  pieces,  and  he  is  shrieking  desparingly  as  the  maniac 
boatswain  laughs:  "  The  bastonnade !  THE  WELCOME  OF 

THE  NEW  GALLEY  SLAVE!" 

But  it  is  only  a  maniac  that  is  shrieking  now!  and 
the  boatswain  falling  to  the  deck,  dies  of  the  fever, 
and  the  three  galley  slaves  expire. 

And  the  sun  is  still  flaming  in  the  heavens  and  the 
pestilence  is  still  coming  up  from  the  town,  and  the 
priests  are  still  saying  their  masses,  and  the  good 
bishop  Belzunce  is  still  working  at  his  labor  of  love 
and  life  among  the  mephitic  hospitals;  but  upon 
the  galley  La  Svlphide,  there  is  no  living  thing  to  tell 
the  tale,  save  a  chained  maniac  who  is  dying  of  the 

plague. 
******** 

Twenty-four  hours  after,  Dillon  lands  at  Toulon  in 
an  open  boat  coming  from  the  open  sea.  Lanty,  meet 
ing  him,  asks  no  questions.  His  old  master's  face 
tells  its  tale. 


THE    KING'S    STOCKBROKER.  283 

"By  my  soul!  you're  faithful,  Lanty! "  cries  the 
comte,  wringing  his  hand.  "You  must  love  me!  " 

"  By  my  soul !  "  chuckles  the  Chevalier,  '  'there's  more 
than  me  as  loves  ye  in  Paris.  Madame  la  Marquise 
would  never  have  forgiven  me,  if  ye  hadn't  come 
back!" 

At  this,  the  eyes  of  O'Brien  Dillon,  that  have  become 
deep  set  in  his  head  through  his  night  of  labor  on  the 
sea,  and  all  the  horrors  of  his  passage  through  the 
plague,  glow  with  a  new  fire — a  new  hope. 

He  has  still  something  to  live  for! 


FINIS. 


JUST   OUT 


A  Complication 
in  Hearts 


A  NOVEL 


BY 


EDMUND    PENDLETON 


AUTHOR    OF 


"A  Conventional   Bohemian,"  "A  Virginia 

Inheritance,"  "One  Woman's  Way" 

etc.,  etc.,  etc. 


THE   HOME    PUBLISHING    COMPANY 

3  East  1 4th  Street,  New  York 


OPINIONS    OP 

THE    GREAT    NOVEL, 

Mr.  Barnes 

of  New  York. 


ENGLAND. 

"There  is  no  reason  for  surprise  at  'Mr.  Barnes' 
being  a  big  hit" — The  Referee,  London,  March  25th. 

"Exciting  and  interesting" — The  Graphic. 

"  'Marina  Paoli' — a  giant  character — just  as  strong 
as  *  Fedora.' " — Illustrated  London  News. 

"A  capital  story — mo%t  people  have  read  it — I 
recommend  it  to  all  the  others." 

— JAMES  PAYNE  in  Illustrated  London  News. 

AMERICA. 

"Told  with  the  genius  of  Alexander  Dumas,  the 
Elder." — Amusement  Gazette. 

"  Have  you  read  '  MR.  BARNES  OF  NEW  YORK  ? '  If 
no,  go  and  read  it  at  once,  and  thank  me  for  suggesting 
it.  ...  I  want  to  be  put  on  record  as  saying  '  it  is 
the  best  story  of  the  day — the  best  I  have  read  in  ten 
years.' " — JOE  HOWARD  in  Boston  Globe. 

But  at  that   time   Mr.   Howard  had 
not  read 

"Mr.  Potter  of  Texas." 


ANOTHER  GREAT  SUCCESS. 

Miss  Nobody 
of  Nowhere. 


BY 

ARCHIBALD  C.  GUNTER. 


"  Full  of  incident  and  excitement." — New  York  Herald. 

"The  popularity  of  Mr.  Gunter  will  now  be  greater 
than  ever." — Tacoma  Globe. 

"  A  story  that  will  keep  a  man  away 
from  his  meals." — Omaha  Bee. 

"  There  is  not  a  dull  page  in  this  volume." 

— Daily  Chronicle,  London,  Jan.  14,  1891. 

<J  Gunter  scores  another  success." 

— Morning  Advertiser ;  London,  Dec.  16,  1890. 

"Well  worth  reading." 

— Galignani,  Paris,  Nov.  24,  1890. 

"Nothing  could  exceed  its  thrilling  interest." 

— Glasgow  Herald,  Dec.  25,  1890. 

"  Gunter's  latest  remarkable  story  will  not  disappoint 
his  numerous  admirers." 

— Newcastle  Chronicle,  Dec.  4,  1890, 


The  Home  Publishing  Company's 

Miscellaneous  List  by  Best  Authors. 
HOW  I   ESCAPED- 

BY  W.  H.  PARKINS.    EDITED  BY  ARCHIBALD  C.  CUNTER. 

CLOTH,  $1 .00.    PAPER,  50c. 
"  The  best  story  of  the  war  yet  written." 

— Atlanta  Constitution. 

MY    OFFICIAL    WIFE. 

BY  COL.  RICHARD    HENRY   SAVAGE. 
CLOTH,  $1 .00.    PAPER,  50c. 

"  It  would  be  hard  to  find  a  more  exciting  story  than  '  My  Official 
Wife.'  A  series  of  events  and  situations  which  increase  in  excite 
ment,  mystery  and  danger.  A  book  through  which  the  reader  will 
dash  with  wild  eagerness." — New  York  Herald. 

"  Wonderfully  clever." — London  limes. 

THE   CHIEF   FACTOR. 

BY  GILBERT  PARKER.   CLOTH,  $1 .00.    PAPER,  50c. 
"  We  advise  all  who  enjoy  a  good  tale,  whether  they 
journey  by  land  or  sea,  to  secure  a  copy." 

— Pall  Mall  Gazette,  Nov.  30,  1892. 

"A  succession  of  exciting  chapters." — Glasgow  Herald ',  Dec.  2,  1892. 
"A  romance  that  takes  captive  the  fancy  and  purifies  and  strengthens 
the  heart." — The  Scotsman,  Edinburgh,  Nov.  30,  1892. 
"  Mr.  Parker's  book  throbs  with  vitality." 

— National  Observer,  Dec.  3,  1892. 

MRS.   FALCHION. 

BY  GILBERT  PARKER.    CLOTH,  $1.00.    PAPER,  50c. 
"Mr.  Parker  has  established  a  new  field.     He  is  to  be  cordially 
welcomed  by  every  lover  of  good  literature  who  feels  the  need  of 
something  more  than  a  clever  story  cleverly  told." 

— New  York  World,  Feb.  26,  1893. 
"  These  books  by  Mr.  Parker  are  to  be  heartily  welcomed." 

— Chicago  Times,  June  24,  1893. 
"  Most  interesting." — Boston  Daily  Traveller,  June  24,  1893. 

A  COMPLICATION  IN  HEARTS 

BY  EDMUND  PENDLETON. 

"  Highly  entertaining." — Chicago  Inter  Ocean,  July  29,  1893. 
"  This  is  a  very  beautiful  story." — N.   Y.  World,  June  22,  1893. 
"  One  of  the  best  novels  of  the  season." 

— Boston  Daily  Traveller,  June  29,  1893. 


NOW    READY. 

AMERICAN    EDITION   OF  THE   LAST  GREAT 
VONDON   SUCCESS. 

Chief  pactor. 

By  Gilbert  Parker. 


"We  advise  all  who  enjoy  a  good  tale,  whether  they 
journey  by  land  or  sea,  to  secure  a  copy." 

Pall  Stall  Gazette,  jfov.  30,  1892. 

"'The  Chief  Factor,'  from  the  pen  of  Gilbert  Parker, 
is  full  of  varied  incident  and  with  the  characters  strongly 
drawn." 

Star,  London,  Dee.  12,  189%. 
"A  succession  of  exciting  chapters." 

Glasgow  Herald,  Dec.  2,  1892. 

"  Some  of  the  scenes  are  intensely  dramatic,  and  through 
out  the  style  is  of  the  best." 

Chicago  Times,  Feb.  26,  1893. 

"Mr.  Gilbert  Parker  will  win  fresh  laurels  for  himself 
by  this  addition  to  the  works  bearing  his  name." 

of  Reviews,  March,  1893. 


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